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i ■ 






THE SWEETEST 
SOLACE 


BY 

JOHN RANDAL 


'True mirth resides not in the smiling skin; 
The Sweetest Solace is to act no sin.” 

— HERRICK. 


NEW YORK 

E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY 
31 West Twenty Third Street 
1907 


LIBRARY of CONGRESS 
Two copies Received 

IAN sd I90r 

Ooa/detit Entry 
OUSS CL XXc., No. 



Copyright 1906 
E. P. Dutton & Company 


Published January, 1907 




j©el>tcate& 

TO 

H. O. 





CONTENTS 


CHAP. ' page 

I. — The Intruder i 

II. — The Stranger's Story 8 

III. — Despondency 15 

IV. — Elation 25 

V. — The Schoolmistress Arrives 38 

VI. — Uncle and Nephew 51 

VII. — The Cap of Fortunatus 59 

VIII. — “Evergreen Peg” 71 

IX. — “The Real Thing” 76 

X. — Miss Blackiston's Good Offices .... 85 

XL— “ Passing It On ” 98 

XII. — In the Quarry Walk 109 

XIII. — Bob Rowly's Opportunity 118 

XIV. — An Official Visit 113 

XV. — The Squatter of Garlonga 146 

XVI. — In the Cloisters 158 

XVII. — “The Emperor's Clothes” 165 

XVIII. — Womanhood 176 

XIX. — The Little Angels’ House 185 

XX. — Too Late I 99 

XXL — Pressure 206 

XXII. — The Answer 219 

XXIII. — From the Past 225 


CONTENTS 


viii 

CHAP. PAGE 

XXIV.— The Bait 237 

XXV. — A Foster-Mother 251 

XXVL— “Two^s Company” 257 

XXVIL— A Quiet Game 264 

XXVIIL— “Arcades Ambo” 274 

XXIX.— Mediation 281 

XXX. — Mrs. Stanley’s Communication .... 290 

XXXI.— Panic 298 

XXXII. — Opportunities 306 

XXXIII. — “ The Honour of a House ” 322 

XXXIV. — Mr. Hodson’s Mandate 33 1 

XXXV. — Danger and Deliverance 344 

XXXVI. — Margaret’s Decision 359 

XXXVIL— The Square Rejoices 37i 


THE SWEETEST SOLACE 



THE SWEETEST SOLACE 

CHAPTER I 

THE INTRUDER 

“So this is Gascoigne Square!” 

The speaker, a tall, slender girl of two-and- 
twenty, stood at the north-east comer of the 
Square which she had just entered. A stranger 
she was unmistakably, for her eyes were fixed with 
an expression of eager interest upon an oval tablet 
bearing the legend — “ Gascoigne Square.” 

Now Gascoigne Square does not rank among the 
conventional “ sights ” of the ancient cathedral city 
of Whitborough. Policemen had smiled when she 
had asked her way; and when she saw the tablet, 
she gave a laugh of contented achievement. It 
was a pleasant, hearty laugh which attested a 
happy and contented disposition. Her face, 
though strongly formed, was withal extraordi- 
narily gentle in expression. Her mouth, it must 
be confessed, was perhaps larger than that of the 
Medici Venus, but the lips were red and firm, and, 
when she smiled, as she was doing now, her teeth 
were white as ivory. Her nose was straight and 
short and her eyes were wide apart. Grey eyes 

I 


2 


THE SWEETEST SOLACE 


were they, large and luminous, yet not without a 
certain expression of seriousness. Her hair was 
brown and wavy, and though, as we have said, 
her lips were ruddy and her eyes a-gleam with 
health, her face was pale, as are frequently those 
of our kinswomen who spend their childhood un- 
der burning skies. 

It was about five o’clock on an afternoon in late 
autumn ; lights were already to be seen in the win- 
dows of some of the houses, and she looked round 
with an animated curiosity at the quaint sanctuary 
into which she had come. 

For more than a century has passed since a 
certain Admiral John Gascoigne (God rest his 
soul for a fine sailorman) , having received from 
My Lords of the Admiralty certain moneys, pur- 
chased a plot of land upon the southern outskirts 
of Whitborough and built thereon a fine square 
of goodly dwelling-houses, which he christened 
after the family which he was pleased to consider 
about the best in the county of Whitshire. This 
done, he forthwith occupied a large double house 
on the north side of the Square, from the windows 
of which he kept an authoritative eye upon his 
tenants, all and sundry. And if a dashing blood 
knocking in from a cocking-match, or a bread and 
butter miss speeding home from a clandestine 
love-tryst, glanced up at Gascoigne House to see 
if those terrible eyes were upon them, we may 
be sure the little colony was none the worse be- 
haved for the presence of that vigilant moralist. 
And so when, in the fulness of time, the good old 


THE INTRUDER 


3 


sailor transferred his flag to Charon’s ferry-boat 
a sorrowing (if slightly relieved) community 
erected in the little garden in the centre of the 
Square a statue to the founder’s memory. 

Towards this garden — a holy of holies to which 
only residents of the Square have right of access 
— the stranger, unconscious of wrong-doing, forth- 
with proceeded. The heavy iron gate was ajar; 
she entered and surveyed the statue with undis- 
guised interest. And in the deepening light the 
figure looked sufficiently impressive. The bullet 
head was thrown back with a fine air of defiance, 
the strong hands were clasped behind the broad 
back, the left foot crushed a coil of cordage. The 
heavy pent-house brows, the long upper lip, the 
hawk-like nose, the iron jaw, all suggested the 
indomitable. 

Amidst the thick shrubs is an old garden-seat, 
and on this the girl sat down. For though it was 
late in the year, Whitborough, as all the world 
knows, lies within crow’s flight of the English 
Channel, and a soft breeze wanders up the estuary 
of the river Strey. The girl, moreover, was some- 
what wearied, and her mind was greatly preoccu- 
pied. When, however, she read the name on the 
pedestal of the statue, an expression as of recog- 
nition once again crossed her face, and she plunged 
with brave heart into serried lines of polysyllabic 
eulogy, and though by nature reverential, she was 
fain to smile as Helion was piled on Ossa. 

“ He was all that, young lady,” said a kind voice 
at her side; “ he was all that — believe me.” 


4 


THE SWEETEST SOLACE 


The girl sprang from the seat with flushing 
cheeks, but her embarrassment was assuaged by 
the aspect of the man who had addressed her. He 
was an old clergyman of middle height and sturdy 
figure. His clean-shaved rosy face, if a little prim 
in the lines of the mouth, was infinitely kind, and 
his blue eyes twinkled with tender merriment. 

“ Pray sit down,” he continued. “I did not 
mean to startle you. I happened by the merest 
chance to see you, and as our old gardener will 
lock the gate in a very few minutes, I thought it 
best to warn you, for the bushes are thick and he 
is somewhat blind, and it were a dire plight for a 
young lady to be imprisoned within these iron 
bars.” 

“ I am very grateful,” replied the girl simply. 
“ It certainly would have been a most unpleasant 
experience, for I am a stranger.” 

“I guessed as much,” .said the old man 
shrewdly, “ and now pray continue the exploits 
of Admiral Gascoigne. I am a resident in the 
Square and have a private key to the garden in my 
pocket. We are very proud of our local hero. 
The Gascoignes are a famous Whitshire family, 
and once on a day owned the entire Square.” 

“And do they not own it now?” enquired the 
girl. 

“Alas, no! Thanks to politics and the turf 
all the houses but one have drifted into alien 
hands. A solicitor, indeed, utilises the corner 
house as an office, but happily the front door faces 
a side street, so the Square is at least spared the 


THE INTRUDER 


5 


indignity of a brass plate. He also acts for the 
Gascoigne family, which perhaps palliates his in- 
trusion. Nay, in recent years we have even sunk 
to Trade,” he continued, with a droll twinkle in 
his eye. “ Two wine merchants occupy houses — 
residentially, of course. One, I admit, does his 
business in a commodious office surrounded by un- 
obstrusive samples; but the other, his former part- 
ner, takes orders in vaults in a most plebeian 
street — and has a bottle entrance round the cor- 
ner. His presence, I confess, is regarded as derog- 
atory of our dignity. In other respects, the Square 
has changed little with the cycling years. It is 
still illuminated by one ancient gas-lamp. It is 
still paved with cobble stones, through which the 
grass sprouts coyly. And we still live, socially 
speaking, under the benevolent autocracy of an 
Admiral Gascoigne. He dwells in yonder house 
behind the statue.” 

“ Oh ! I am glad you showed it to me,” re- 
plied the stranger eagerly. “ For I knew a young 
Mr. Gascoigne in Australia. He came from 
Whitborough, and was related to an Admiral Gas- 
coigne.” 

“What, you know Rex Gascoigne?” cried the 
old clergyman with enthusiasm. “ Then you know 
one of the best fellows breathing. I’ve known 
him since — well, since he was so high. His 
father. General Gascoigne, died some years ago, 
and he now lives with his uncle. So you know 
Rex Gascoigne — dear, dear; how small the 
world is 1 ” 


6 


THE SWEETEST SOLACE 


“ He came to our station in New South Wales 
for some kangaroo hunting. And so,” she added, 
looking at the statue, “ this is Mr. Gascoigne’s 
ancestor. I must certainly finish the inscription 
without smiling,” and the girl recommenced her 
task; but whilst they had been talking the night 
had drawn on apace, and she was hard put to it 
to decipher the quaint lettering. 

“ I am afraid you must defer your task until 
the morning,” said the clergyman. 

“ I am returning to London by the quarter-past 
seven train this evening, and the great Admiral 
Gascoigne seems to have been very energetic. I 
am afraid I must take the last five lines for 
granted.” 

“ Not a bit of it,” persisted the old gentleman 
merrily. “ John, the lamplighter, will soon be 
here and you can finish it, as is fitting, by the light 
of the Admiral’s binnacle.” 

“ By the what? ” cried the girl, quickly turning 
her face to him. Through the gloom he could see 
that her eyes were fixed upon him with a curious 
look of agitation. 

“ I used the expression ‘ the Admiral’s binnacle.’ 
That is the sobriquet which the children in the 
Square, by a slight confusion of nautical terms, 
have for many generations given to this old gas 
lamp behind us.” 

“ I see,” answered the girl, recovering her com- 
posure. “Tell me,” she continued, “have you 
lived long in the Square?” 

“ Over half a century. I came, a young man 


THE INTRUDER 


7 

fresh from the university, as head master to our 
great cathedral school.” 

‘‘ I suppose years ago people — old people — 
used to go about in chairs more frequently than 
they do nowadays? ” 

“ Chairs, chairs,” repeated the old clergyman, 
“ d’you mean bath-chairs? ” 

“ I suppose so,” replied the girl, with a little 
hesitation. “ Yes, bath-chairs.” 

“ People were perhaps a little more lazy then, 
and certainly had not learnt to resist the incursions 
of age as they do now, but I do not think that 
many people in the Square used bath-chairs. In 
fact, to old fogies like myself they are a compara- 
tive innovation. Why, I can remember an old 
lady in this Square who always went to Cathedral 
every Sunday in a sedan-chair. Think of that! 
I’m bound to say she was probably the last person 
in England to use one, and even then her chair 
was regarded as an interesting anachronism. But 
Mrs. Hambledon paid small regard to public opin- 
ion, and her old chair is now in our local museum 
for all the world to see.” 

“Where did she live?” asked the stranger 
eagerly. 

The Canon was struck by her unaccountable 
curiosity, but he replied at once. “ Over there, 
half-way down the east side of the Square in a line 
with the lamp — the Admiral’s binnacle, you 
know.” 

“ She lived in a line with the Admiral’s bin- 
nacle,” said the girl, in a low voice. 


CHAPTER II 


THE stranger’s STORY 

The old clergyman detected a peculiar cadence in 
the girl’s voice, something of sadness, something 
of relief, something, maybe, of realised anticipa- 
tion, and he was at a loss to know why so trivial 
a matter as the position of an old lady’s house 
thirty years ago should have excited any interest 
in the mind of a casual wayfarer. At that mo- 
ment, moreover, the lamplighter lit the gaunt 
old gas-lamp, and by its dull light he could see 
that the girl’s face looked strained and fatigued. 

“ You seem tired,” he said kindly. “ I dare- 
say you have had a long day. I live close here, 
at No. 7, and as I am a very old gentleman, and 
as we have a common friend in young Mr. Gas- 
coigne, I daresay you will dispense with a formal 
introduction and come and have a cup of tea which 
my sister will have just made. My name is Canon 
Marston.” 

“ Thank you,” replied the girl frankly. “ I 
should like a cup of tea very much. For I left 
London early this morning and I am rather 
tired.” 

The Canon led the way out of the garden and 
let himself into one of the houses on the western 
side. They ascended the stairs and entered the 
§ 


THE STRANGER’S STORY 


9 


drawing-room. At the tea-table sat an elderly 
lady, whose face bore a certain resemblance to that 
of the Canon. It lacked, however, the latter’s 
sweetness of expression, and there was a keen 
glitter in the quick, bright eyes. 

“ My dear Alicia,” commenced the Canon, with 
the cough of diffidence, “ I found this young lady 
studying the inscription on the statue. We en- 
tered into conversation. It transpired that Rex 
Gascoigne had stayed at her father’s sheep-station 
in Australia — and so, I — ventured to ask her 
in to have a cup of tea before she returns to 
London. May I introduce my sister to you. Miss 
— ■ — ” He paused, and looked towards the vis- 
itor. 

“ My name is Francis, Margaret Francis,” an- 
swered the girl. 

Miss Marston bowed with prim and icy punc- 
tiliousness and then proceeded to remark with 
cheerful acidity: “ So you know young Gascoigne 
— a volatile young man, I am afraid, but whether 
he possesses any real strength of purpose has to be 
seen. I suppose you are touring through Eng- 
land with your parents, eh?” she continued, with 
a cursory glance over her shoulder as though their 
guest had mislaid those useful appurtenances in 
the purlieus of the Square. 

“ My parents are dead,” replied Miss Francis. 
“ My mother died years ago when my sister was 
born, and my father died very soon after Mr. Gas- 
coigne stayed with us. I am not touring, and I 


10 


THE SWEETEST SOLACE 


live in London with my sister. I am a teacher 
in a day-school in Kensington.” 

“ A teacher,” repeated the old maid, with a 
reproachful glance at her brother. “ I understood 
you had a sheep-station in Australia.” 

“ My father had a moderate-sized station, but 
that is in a sense lost to us. Some years ago there 
was a financial panic in Australia. My father, 
who had invested in certain insurance companies, 
lost not only all the money he possessed, but found 
himself liable for a good deal more. Unknown 
to us he had suffered for some time from his heart, 
and I am afraid the shock of our being left in 
want hastened the end.” 

“ It might well do so,” said the old school- 
master sympathetically; “ and so you two children 
were left to face the world alone.” 

“ No, not alone,” replied the girl, with a very 
sweet smile. “We had a neighbour — the one, 
in fact, who sent Mr. Gascoigne to us in the 
colonial fashion. He advanced us money to com- 
plete our education in Europe, whilst he took over 
the station and nursed the property until the calls 
of the companies could be gradually met. We 
went to Dresden, where I learnt German and other 
languages, and my sister, music. So soon as I 
was in a position to earn money I came to London 
and took pupils, and entered myself at London 
University. In the spring of this year I took my 
degree and obtained the position I now hold. In 
the meantime, my sister Jessamine, who has a 


THE STRANGER’S STORY 


1 1 

beautiful voice, attended classes at the Royal Col- 
lege of Music.” 

“ Jessamine I Dear me ! what a curious 
name ! ” observed Miss Marston, with a little 
sniff. 

“ My father loved all flowers, and especially 
Jessamine, which he said was one of the flowers 
which grew in both Australia and the old coun- 
try.” 

“ Fanciful, I should call it,” said Alicia Mars- 
ton tartly. “ And was it your father’s attachment 
to the old country that brought you to Whit- 
borough ? Did he hail from these parts — I don’t 
remember the name — or was he colonial born?” 

“ I am afraid I never asked him,” answered 
Miss Francis, with some embarrassment. 

“ Ask him ! Why should you ? Surely every- 
body comes from somewhere, and as a rule it 
transpires in ordinary conversation.” 

“ My dear father was rather a silent man,” 
answered the stranger, whose pale cheek flushed. 
“ He was in the saddle all day, and the evenings 
were devoted to music and reading. I came to 
Whitborough from other motives than sentiment. 
I saw lately an advertisement in The Guardian, 
that a school for little girls was to be started here 
in connection with the High School. Mr. Gas- 
coigne had, I remembered, more than once men- 
tioned the peculiar mildness of the climate, and as 
my sister’s voice is becoming affected by the damp 
and cold of the London winter, I thought no harm 
would be done if I applied for the place myself. 


12 


THE SWEETEST SOLACE 


But before doing so I thought it would be wiser 
to run down and see if your proximity to the sea 
did really dispel the English fogs.” 

“ Do you happen to know in whose hands the 
appointment lies?” asked Miss Marston, looking 
significantly at her brother. 

“ No,” answered the teacher, with unconcern. 
“ I suppose it is in the hands of a Committee of 
Selection. Do you know anything about the 
school?” she continued, turning to the Canon. 

“ I have heard the project mentioned. Miss 
Francis,” he replied demurely. “ Parents have 
been lately sending children of very tender years 
to the High School. The head mistress does not 
like to lose pupils, but, nevertheless, she thinks 
some of them are too young for the work and 
discipline of a large establishment. Accordingly 
the School Committee decided to take a com- 
modious old house in this Square, and start a school 
for infants as a ‘ feeder ’ to the High School. See, 
that is the house on the opposite side of the Square. 
You can easily recognise it. The caretaker has 
lit the gas in the hall, and you will notice that 
whereas all the other houses have the old-fash- 
ioned semi-circular lantern window above the door. 
No. 19 has just a square pane of glass. 

The girl rose and followed with her eyes the 
outstretched finger of her host. “ So the school 
is actually to be in Gascoigne Square — Mr. Gas- 
coigne’s Square,” she said eagerly. “That quite 
decides me. I shall certainly apply for the post,” 
and with a gentle laugh she rose to say good-bye. 


THE STRANGER’S STORY 


13 


Miss Alicia bowed with frigidity and the Canon 
escorted the girl downstairs. 

“ I suppose it was Master Rex who told you 
about that old chair of Mrs. Hambledon’s, eh ? ” 
said the old man shrewdly, as he opened the front 
door. 

The look of care came once again into the hon- 
est grey eyes. 

“ It was not Mr. Gascoigne,” she said gravely. 
“ I thank you for your kind hospitality. Good- 
bye.” 

Perplexed at her reply he watched the graceful 
figure until it was lost in the gloom, and then re- 
turned to the drawing-room. So soon as he en- 
tered his sister cried, “ There’s artfulness for you. 
Waylaying the Chairman of the Selection Com- 
mittee !” 

“ I am afraid, Alicia, you haven’t quite grasped 
the facts,” replied her brother gently. ‘‘ It was 
I who waylaid her, if that’s the expression. And 
how she could have ascertained the personnel of 
the Selection Committee, which was only an- 
nounced at noon to-day, passes my comprehen- 
sion.” 

“Pooh! If it comes to that, how does the 
burglar know where you keep your plate? I 
should, at any rate, suggest your verifying the 
testimonials of a young woman who doesn’t know 
where her own father came from.” 

“ She carries the best of all testimonials in her 
sweet good face,” replied the Canon, with quite 
unusual warmth.” 


14 


THE SWEETEST SOLACE 


“ Ah, I see,” cried Alicia Marston, jumping out 
of her chair. “ You mean to job that girl into 
the mistress-ship. Well,” she continued, shaking 
a minatory forefinger, “ you can, of course, do’ as 
you like. Only don’t say afterwards that I didn’t 
warn you. The Jessamine, I presume, is as indi- 
genous to Botany Bay as to other parts of Aus- 
tralia. Mark my words, attached to that young 
woman is some dark and curious mystery.” 


CHAPTER III 


DESPONDENCY 

One morning, a couple of months or so after 
Miss Marston had solemnly warned her brother 
against the mysterious stranger, Admiral John Gas- 
coigne stood at his dining-room window and gazed 
abstractedly at the pig-tail of his illustrious an- 
cestor, to whom he bore no small resemblance. 
His nose was a little less aquiline than was that 
modelled by the sculptor, and his upper lip was 
appreciably shorter, but otherwise there was little 
to choose “ ’twixt flesh and iron.” For his clean- 
shaved weather-beaten face was somewhat grim 
and hard, though redeemed withal by a certain 
expression of whimsical humour in the corners of 
the firm mouth and in the keen blue eyes. And, 
in truth, beneath the crust of family pride and pro- 
fessional imperiousness lay infinite sympathy and 
benevolence. 

He had only returned home the previous day, 
after a fortnight’s absence, and a communication 
which he had received overnight had roused his 
energies to immediate action. The clock struck 
half-past ten. He unclasped his hands, took up 
a slip of paper from a bureau, put on his hat and 
walked down the Square to the south-west corner. 
Here he turned into a narrow lane, guarded from 

15 


1 6 THE SWEETEST SOLACE 

vehicular traffic by four blue posts, and entered 
an open door upon which was a plate bearing the 
name, “ Thomas Swannick, Commissioner for 
Oaths.” The Admiral knocked at a closed door 
on the right of the hall. A deep voice cried 
“ Come In,” and he entered a spacious well-lit 
room, two windows of which looked into the 
Square and the third Into the lane. 

At a big writing-table sat an enormous man, 
who rose as the caller proffered his hand. Not a 
whit under six feet four inches did he stand in his 
dapper brown boots. He was not a stout man; 
indeed, a waist was still pleasantly discernible, 
but broad-shouldered and deep-chested, with limbs 
like unto those of Anak. His face was clean- 
shaven and rosy as the dawn. His eyes twinkled 
with good humour, and a smile was rarely absent 
from the full lips. His shock of wavy hair was 
white as snow, though he was not more than fifty; 
and, dressed as he was in a very unprofessional 
suit of tweed, he looked for all the world like a 
prosperous country gentleman. 

“ I’m glad to find you,” said the Admiral cheer- 
ily. ‘‘ You are not always to be found,” he added, 
pointing slyly to a pair of race-glasses that lay on 
the chimney-piece. 

“ Come, come. Admiral,” protested the solicitor, 
with a jolly laugh, “ I’m not such a gadabout as 
all that, and yesterday our friend Barkly Hel- 
stone ” 

“ Your friend,” murmured the Admiral. 

“Well, If you prefer it, my friend Barkly Hel- 


DESPONDENCY 


17 


stone routed me out and carried me off to Ports- 
down Park to see the big steeplechase. And, for 
the matter of that, Admiral Gascoigne is not al- 
ways at home either. Within the last fortnight 
I have called twice at Gascoigne House and found 
you out.” 

“ I went up to London for Rex’s * call party,’ 
and only returned yesterday. I found Lord Strey- 
bridge awaiting my return, and as a result of that 
interview I have come here this morning. Did 
you want to see me about anything in particular? ” 

“ I did, but that will keep until your business 
is settled. Now what can I do for you ?” 

“ I want to see the probate of my brother Ed- 
ward’s will.” 

The solicitor touched a bell and requested the 
office boy to fetch Mr. Harris. 

“ He has your family’s affairs at his finger’s 
end,” he remarked apologetically. 

‘‘ And those of most of your other clients as 
well,” replied Admiral Gascoigne. “Take care 
he doesn’t set up an opposition shop.” 

“ I shan’t give him the chance,” laughed the 
jolly solicitor. “ You see, I keep a little bit up 
my sleeve about them all. None the less, Har- 
ris is a smart fellow.” 

Certainly anyone who formed a false estimate 
regarding the character of the young man who 
entered the room had only himself to thank, for 
craftiness and zeal were written on every line of 
his big handsome face. Managing clerks, as a 
class, represent the very best type of public-school 
2 


1 8 THE SWEETEST SOLACE 

boy. But not of them was Albert Harris. He 
had commenced life as an office boy, and his tri- 
umphant career from that lowly role to “ articles,” 
and thence again to the dignity of a managing 
clerk, was due to a sleuth-hound energy that was 
not appreciated by everybody. 

Mr. Harris having produced the documents 
from a box, the Admiral asked for a list of current 
quotations on the Stock Exchange, and, turning 
to the schedule of securities attached to the pro- 
bate, commenced to calculate their present values 
and the dividends they were paying. The result 
of his investigation did not seem encouraging, for 
he laid the pencil down with a sigh. 

“ At the best £700 a year. And that after all 
Ned’s dreams for the lad’s welfare.” 

‘‘ Well, you see,” said Swannick, with a curious 
smile, “ that £6,000 which ” 

“ A man has a right to do what he likes with 
his own,” interrupted the Admiral sharply, as he 
glanced involuntarily towards the managing clerk. 
His private affairs were one thing, those of his 
dead brother’s were quite another matter. 

Harris’ face betrayed no resentment, and the 
Admiral hastened to pull out of his waistcoat 
pocket the slip of paper he had brought with him. 
It was a list of his own securities. 

Money at the moment was “ tight,” as the say- 
ing is, and most investments were depreciated. 
He rubbed his forehead and gave a sorry little 
laugh. 

“ You can’t get more out of a pint pot than a 


DESPONDENCY 


19 


pint pot holds,” he remarked dejectedly, “ and I 
want one person to have a good pull at my poor 
little pint and yet leave a modest draught for 
someone else, which brings me to the purport of 
my call, which I must ask you two gentlemen to 
regard as confidential — certainly for the present.” 

Swannick nodded, and the managing clerk, 
gathering up the papers, was about to leave the 
room. 

“ Don’t go, Mr. Harris,” cried Admiral Gas- 
coigne, desirous of obliterating any sting to the 
young man’s amour propre that his previous ges- 
ture may have occasioned. “ You have helped 
Mr. Swannick to look after my affairs for some 
years ; and, indeed, since at his request I proposed 
you for the East Wiltshire Club, I regard you as 
something more than his professional assistant. 
Well, the long and short of it is this. Lord Strey- 
bridge called on me last night, told me in confi- 
dence that his uncle, Mr. Lancelot Helstone, in- 
tended retiring from Parliament at the next Gen- 
eral Election, and asked me point blank if I 
thought my nephew Rex would stand for Whit- 
borough as his nominee. Of course, as you know, 
the Gascoignes and the Helstones were for years 
bitter political rivals, and just as both families 
were equally impoverished by the repeated contests 
in the borough, the Helstones found coal on the 
Brayton estate. Then the fight was over. The 
weight of metal told. Geoffrey Helstone got his 
baronage, his son an earldom, and now the present 
peer has all a Christian man can desire or deserve. 


20 THE SWEETEST SOLACE 

He and my nephew have been friends ever since 
Rex was his fag at Eton. The old party land- 
marks have become obliterated; there is mighty 
little difference now between their political opin- 
ions, and the question is really one of ways and 
means.” 

“ Does Barkly Helstone know of Lord Strey- 
bridge’s offer? ” enquired Swannick gently. 

“ No; and what is more, he is not to know until 
Rex has made his decision.” The tone of the old 
man’s voice admitted of no ambiguity. 

Swannick shrugged his shoulders and the Ad- 
miral continued. 

“ Of course, the matter lies entirely in Lord 
Streybridge’s hands. But he makes it a condition 
that the borough should be fittingly and adequately 
represented. In other words, Rex must not regard 
politics as a distraction, still less as a means of 
professional advancement. He must, in short, re- 
linquish the Bar as a profession, and with it any 
prospects of increasing his modest patrimony. 
Now the six or seven hundred a year that he will 
receive when he attains his twenty-fifth birthday 
in a few weeks’ time will not go far in politics. 
I am an old man; much of my income is derived 
from an excellent pension, and I cannot do more 
for him in my will than I have done without dimin- 
ishing the legacy I have left to my life-long friend 
Miss Blackiston. Small as her income is, from 
what you tell me it will soon be further reduced. 
For I suppose the man to whom we lent that 
£3,000 on mortgage will soon have to repay it.” 


DESPONDENCY 21 

“ I called it in some months ago,” replied the 
solicitor. 

“ Mr. Sheen is in financial difficulties, and the 
security — a property in South Kensington — is 
daily depreciating.” 

“ That was what Robert Sefton foretold at the 
time,” said the Admiral, half to himself. 

A glint of anger came into Swannick’s dancing 
eyes. 

“ Since Sefton, at your request, handed the trust 
fund over to me. Miss Blackiston has received a 
splendid rate of interest for fifteen years, and now 
gets back the capital sum intact. Leave the 
money in my hand and I will still get her four 
per cent.” 

“ You are a good, kind fellow,” said the Ad- 
miral heartily. “ And I am sure my old friend 
ought to be satisfied.” 

“ Yes,” observed Mr. Harris, with a puckering 
little smile. “ I don’t think Miss Blackiston has 
much to complain of.” 

There was a caustic ring in the clerk’s voice. 
The lady in question had strong views on class 
distinctions. Though she adored Mr. Swannick, 
she did not extend her favour to that gentleman’s 
clerk. 

Mr. Harris’ observation was not lost upon the 
Admiral. 

“What do you mean, Mr. Harris?” he en- 
quired sharply. 

“ I only meant, sir, that you are very kind to 
Miss Blackiston,” replied the clerk. 


22 


THE SWEETEST SOLACE 


“ Kind, sir,” retorted the old sailor. “ Of 
course I am kind. Miss Blackiston, let me tell 
you, is the most charming lady I have ever 
known.” 

“ You’re right. Admiral,” said Swannick. 
“ She was a most attractive young woman when 
I came here, close on thirty years ago, and, as a 
girl, must have been fascinating in the extreme. 
I have heard many stories of her wit and charm, 
and how everyone, from the then Lord Streybridge 
downwards, lay prostrate at her feet. But she 
would have none of them. I can recollect my old 
partner, Mr. Sefton, once saying that if anyone 
ever did succeed in touching that wayward heart, 
it was a young soldier who lived in this very 
square and who had been a great friend of your 
poor brother’s. His name, if I remember rightly, 
was something like ” 

“ Come, come, Swannick,” interrupted the Ad- 
miral quickly. De mortuis, you know, and it is 
not for us to discuss any lady’s predilections. It 
is enough that I have a warm corner in my heart 
for Peggy Blackiston, and feel anxious for her fu- 
ture. Her income must diminish and the rent of 
her little house may go up when the present lease 
expires.” 

“ Oh, no! it won’t,” answered Swannick, with a 
grin. “ The locality is losing caste. That lawyer 
fellow Swannick has got an office in one of the 
houses and next door is a girls’ school.” 

“Has the school actually opened?” enquired 
the Admiral, with mock resignation. 


DESPONDENCY 


23 


“ The children haven’t come, but the mistress 
and her sister have. Thinking we had better 
come to an immediate understanding about piano- 
playing and the like I sent Harris round, and he 
saw Miss Francis.” 

“Ho! ho!” laughed the Admiral, “and was 
she very terrifying? ” 

“ On the contrary, sir, she’s rather a fine girl, 
but a bit stiff in manner. You see, poor girls, 
they’re Colonials.” 

“ Hem ! Francis — Colonial ” muttered 

the Admiral, as a swift elusive thought flashed 
through his brain and then escaped. “ I tell you 
what, Swannick,” he said, after two seconds’ futile 
pursuit, “you’ll have to go and call on these young 
ladies yourself, otherwise you’ll be having the 
charming Miss Merrydew coming round.” 

The Admiral spoke with a jocularity he did 
not feel, for his eyes wandered ever and anon to 
that slip of paper. He felt, however, that he had 
been a little hard on Mr. Harris. 

Now Miss Merrydew was the daughter of the 
more aristocratic of those two wine merchants. It 
was at a local dance — when the “ Dolcibel Carte 
d’Or,” a champagne specially imported by Mr. 
Merrydew, creamed with abandon — that Mr. 
Harris succumbed to the rosk cheeks and opulent 
charms of the importer’s only child. Accord- 
ingly, that young man professed to be particularly 
tickled at the Admiral’s pleasantry, and having 
replaced the papers proceeded to make his bow. 

“If you want me again I shall be in the articled 


24 


THE SWEETEST SOLACE 


clerk’s room. I have to overlook a conveyance I 
set young Mr. Rowly to draft.” And with a 
grim smile he left the room. 

“ Poor little Bob Rowly I ” said Swannick. 

“ He certainly does not cotton to the Law. His 
father had better have popped him into the family 
vaults.” 

‘‘ Spell it in the singular,” said the Admiral, 

“ and I wish the whole family were there.” 
Rowly phe was the member of the wine trade who 
still clung to the bottle entrance, and the Admiral 
openly resented his presence in Gascoigne Square. 

“ No, no,” he added, with a laugh. “ I don’t 
really mean that. The fact is, I feel a little bit 
put out. I am sorry if Mr. Harris should feel 
hurt, but I did not wish that six thousand pounds 
which my brother drew out of Pryse’s to be dis- 
cussed before him. Poor dear Ned! He was 
always speculative, and always sanguine, and I 
suppose it vanished like snow in the sunshine. It 
would have come in very handy to-day. It would 
have just made the difference. ’ We must refuse 
Lord Streybridge’s offer.” 

“ I did not mention that money before Harris 
without my reasons, and if I were you I don’t 
think I should refuse Lord Streybridge’s offer,” 
said the solicitor, looking into his client’s face with 
a humorous smile. 

“What d’ye mean?” cried the Admiral, laying 
his hand upon the other’s arm. 

“ Ah, that’s the question I’ve been wishing to 
see you about for the last ten days. The little 
bit, you know. I’ve kept up my sleeve.” 


CHAPTER IV 


ELATION 

“ SwANNlCK,” cried the Admiral, with eyes 
ablaze, “ you have kept something from me.” 

“ I told you I had already called twice at Gas- 
coigne House during your absence. But before 
we go into this, tell me frankly, was your brother 
more communicative to you regarding his money 
affairs than he was to me, his solicitor?” 

The Admiral winced. He did not relish such a 
question as applied to any Gascoigne, much less to 
his brother, but he could not dispute its relevancy, 
so he answered with perfect candour: 

“ My brother was naturally a speculative man, 
and such men are secretive, especially with rela- 
tions who are older and more cautious. More- 
over, circumstances occurred in his youth which 
combined to make him rather silent and reserved. 
The year after his marriage he lost his wife, to 
whom he was greatly attached. Then he had to 
send his little lad home to our mother, and he 
felt the separation keenly. Also, he got into trou- 
ble with his commanding officer about that poor 
fellow, whose name, for old times’ sake, I did not 
wish you to mention before Mr. Harris. They 
were partners in a small racing stable, and when 
poor Harry did — well, what he did do in conse- 

25, 


26 


THE SWEETEST SOLACE 


quence, it was said, of racing debts, the Colonel 
considered, most unjustifiably, that my brother had 
beguiled him into extravagance. Well, a bad 
colonel of a regiment is not as trying as a bad cap- 
tain of a ship, as I know to my cost. Still, it’s 
pretty wearing. Added to all this, just about this 
time he lost a lot of money in a disastrous specula- 
tion.” 

“ It did not happen, by any chance, to be some 
smelting works at Bhopal, in India, started by one 
Macalister? ” enquired Swannick, with a curious 
little smile. 

“ The very same,” cried the astonished Admiral. 
“ He was a mining engineer, and when prospecting 
in Northern India discovered large quantites of 
copper ore at Bhopal, in the Vindhya hills. Being 
endowed with a wonderful gift of persuasion, he 
induced a dozen or so of his personal friends — 
amongst them my brother — into forming a sort 
of association for the exploitation of his discov- 
ery. There was no company in the legal sense, 
but every man subscribed whatever he could afford, 
after the manner of the gentlemen adventurers of 
old. Of course, there was no registration of the 
concern, nor was there any actual scrip issued, but 
each participator received Macalister’s receipt for 
the amount he subscribed, and shared profits in pro- 
portion to his contribution. At first those profits 
ran high, and Ned, on the strength of them, re- 
solved to marry. Scarcely had he done so when 
for some mysterious reason the ore petered out and 
the whole thing ceased to be remunerative except 


ELATION 


27 


to Macalister, who continued to make just enough 
out of it to keep the furnace alight and pay wages 
and his own very modest salary.” 

“ In short, the concern kept going.” 

“ In that limited sense, but only because Mac- 
alister is such an indomitable sort of fellow. He’s 
an old man now, and for all these years has never 
ceased to believe in the Bhopal Smelting Works. 
Only a few months before my brother was taken 
ill, he mentioned to me that Macalister had writ- 
ten to him from an address in the City to the effect 
that new veins of unparalleled richness had been 
discovered; more modern plant was needed, and 
now that success was in sight he wished such of 
his old friends who were living to share in his pros- 
perity. Money, of course, was needed, and he 
gently suggested to Ned that as several original 
contributors had subscribed to the extent of their 
first holdings, it would simplify matters if he did 
the same. My brother showed me his letter and 
really seemed not indisposed to consider it. But, 
of course, I felt it my duty to speak out. He 
had his boy to think of now, and it would be 
simply wicked to allow a false sentiment of loyalty 
to affect his obvious duty as a father. He evi- 
dently saw the force of my protests, for upon my 
pressing matters he gave me his assurance to write 
that night to Macalister, refusing to stand in. 
You may remember no documents connected with 
the Bhopal Works were found amidst his papers, 
not even Macalister’s original receipt.” 

“ Yet it must be somewhere,” Swannick replied 


28 


THE SWEETEST SOLACE 


thoughtfully. “ Your brother would never have 
destroyed it so long as the furnaces were going. 
Now what was your brother’s original contribution 
to Macalister’s Association?” 

“ Roughly speaking, six thousand pounds — the 
bulk of his little patrimony.” 

“ And the very sum he drew out of Pryse’s so 
soon as he was well enough to go up to London.” 

“ Oh, it is impossible ! General Gascoigne was 
not a man to break his word,” cried the Ad- 
miral. 

“ The General Gascoigne we all know was not, 
but the General Gascoigne whose whole system 
had been shattered by a paralytic stroke might 
have been an entirely different person. Now hear 
what I have to say, which is, in truth, ‘ the bit up 
my sleeve.’ A fortnight ago your brother’s old 
butler, Samuel Fitch, came as usual to the office 
to receive the quarterly instalment of his annuity, 
and not unnaturally we began to chat about his 
poor master. ‘ Mr. Swannick,’ said Samuel, ‘ I 
thought the General would pull through until that 
there talking Macalister caller, and when two days 
after my master sent cross for Canon Marston, 
I knew well it was only a question of time.’ At 
the name of Macalister I pricked my ears, and 
pressed Samuel to explain. It seemed one after- 
noon a few weeks after your brother had recov- 
ered sufficiently to come downstairs, an old gentle- 
man called, whose card bore the name ‘ Angus 
Macalister.’ He was shown into the study, and 
so soon as your brother joined him his voice was 


ELATION 


29 


heard in the most animated conversation. The 
General ^cemed to be protesting, but so soon as he 
commenced to speak his voice was drowned by that 
of his visitor. At last the bell rang. The two 
men out into the hall, and Mr. Macalister, 

shaking his host warmly by the hand, thanked him 
for I Is g^enerosity, and added that the General had 
better turn over what he had said, and if he let 
him know what he wished to be done when they 
went to allotment he would see that the boy’s 
interests were well looked after, assuming that 
which his old friend anticipated should unfor- 
tunately occur. 

Samuel Fitch had good reason to remember the 
exact words which the visitor employed. 

The very next day, despite Samuel’s protests, 
the General went up to London by an early train. 
This was the 14th of June, the very day on which 
he drew out that £6,000, which, you may remem- 
ber, he drew out by a cheque payable to self, and 
which was cashed over the counter, so that the 
money became untraceable. He returned home on 
the 15th, and on the following morning, when 
Samuel took his basin of soup to the study he 
found that his master had been busy writing. On 
the table there were several sheets of foolscap 
already covered, and also a small key. In an 
hour’s time he rang for Samuel, and asked him to 
fetch Canon Marston. The Canon came, re- 
mained twenty minutes or so, and then left; when 
Samuel re-entered the study immediately after, the 
papers and the key were gone.” 


30 


THE SWEETEST SOLACE 


“ Gone,” repeated the Admiral. ‘‘ Then 
Charles Marston must have taken them away with 
him. Have you seen him?” 

“ Not yet. I had another step to take before I 
was quite sure of my ground. You may remem- 
ber your brother left a legacy of £250 to a Mr. 
Hodson, one of the principal clerks in Pryses’ 
banking house. At the time we thought it a very 
unnecessary compliment. But so soon as I had 
received Fitch’s communication, it at once struck 
me that there might have been a reason for that 
legacy. Accordingly, a week ago I went up to 
London. Mr. Hodson, who is a person of consid- 
erable importance in the bank, has a private room 
into which I was shown. At once I asked him 
if he had any documents belonging to your 
brother’s estate which he had not discovered to 
us when we proved the General’s will. He ad- 
mitted under pressure that he held a small tin 
box containing certain papers which General Gas- 
coigne had entrusted to him. These could not, at 
the time of the General’s death, be regarded as 
of any immediate value, but they might ultimately 
prove of considerable value. Upon my suggest- 
ing that General Gascoigne’s solicitor and not his 
banker was the proper depository, he replied that 
he held the box purely in his private capacity as 
General Gascoigne’s friend, and that he had strict 
instructions in writing that in case the box was still 
in his possession on the eve of Rex Gascoigne’s 
twenty-fifth birthday he was to surrender it to the 
person who held the key and who would open it in 


ELATION 


31 


his presence. The latter’s identity he was not in 
a position to disclose, but he had no doubt if the 
contents proved of value, it would of course be 
at once handed over to the estate.” 

“ The person who holds the key,” exclaimed the 
Admiral excitedly. “ That must be Marston. 
Let us see him at once.” 

They found the Canon sitting in his study. 
Glad as he always was to see John Gascoigne, he 
was less glad to see his companion for whom the 
old schoolmaster had no special liking; and cer- 
tainly he regretted the solicitor’s presence when the 
Admiral, having told him frankly how much he 
knew, asked him fair and square if his brother 
had entrusted him with the document in question, 
and if he was av/are of its purport. 

Charles Marston was no adept in equivocation, 
and he answered unhesitatingly, “Yes, I do hold 
a document. As an actual fact it is here.” 

He drew a bunch of keys from his pocket, and 
unlocking the central drawer of his pedestal writ- 
ing-table produced therefrom a long blue envelope. 

It was open at one end and proved to be a mere 
cover, for he drew out a little key and a stout 
package of white cartridge paper. The latter was 
sealed with the General’s personal seal. Swan- 
nick recognised the impression, for he had taken 
possession of the seal at the General’s death to 
close up certain documents, and ever since it had 
lain in a box among the estate papers. 

“ Would you like me to put these in our fire- 


32 THE SWEETEST SOLACE 

proof safe? ” asked Swannick, with an ingratiating 
smile. 

Without vouchsafing a word in reply the Canon 
hastily replaced both key and package in the cover 
and relocked the drawer. 

“ You will pardon my pressing you, Charles,” 
said the Admiral, “ but we are none of us young. 
What would happen to these things if you were to 
die?” 

“ That has been provided for. They would be 
transferred to your custody with certain written 
instructions, which I have already placed in the 
hands of Robert Sefton. That contingency will 
probably not arise, because my custody of them 
will soon expire.” 

“When Rex attains his majority?” 

“ Exactly,” replied the Canon, and Swannick 
smiled triumphantly. 

“ Then I suppose Rex takes possession of 
them?” enquired the Admiral. 

“ Not necessarily. I suppose I had better tell 
you what I know. Your brother laid no positive 
seal upon my lips, though I cannot doubt he spoke 
in confidence ; but inasmuch as you have discovered 
the existence of the document, perhaps it is better 
for you to know the rest. 

“ On my arrival that morning General Gas- 
coigne requested me to witness his signature to a 
document — which, of course, I did. It was con- 
cealed by a sheet of blotting paper, and, as I have 
said, I was, and am, in complete ignorance of its 
contents. This done, he placed it in a strong en- 


ELATION 


33 


velope and sealed it On my rising to leave he 
urged me to sit down again, and proceeded to ask 
me if I would grant him a favour, which was. In 
fact, that I should keep In safe custody the docu- 
ment I had just witnessed until I received from 
one of the chief clerks In Pryse & Co., named Mr. 
Hodson, a certain address, and to that address I 
was to forward it, together with a key which lay 
on his desk. For reasons not unconnected with 
this document he had decided to postpone Rex’s 
majority until he was twenty-five, and if Mr. Hod- 
son did not communicate with me before that date 
I was to seek an interview with him on the eve of 
Rex’s twenty-fifth birthday. He would give me 
certain information regarding these matters, and 
together we were to open a tin box, the key of 
which you have just seen, and for the contents 
of which I was forthwith to regard myself as re- 
sponsible. This done, but not before, I was to 
return home, open the package, and if, on reading 
It, I thought it right that Rex should be apprised 
of Its purport, I was to place It In his hands ; but 
if, on the other hand, I thought it expedient that 
he should go through life In Ignorance thereof, I 
was to destroy It then and there and keep my 
own counsel. Such was the nature of his request. 
Knowing that Mr. Hodson was the particular 
clerk at Pryse’s who advised General Gascoigne In 
financial matters, and being conscious that I was 
In no sense a man of affairs, I Implored him to 
entrust the commission to either his brother or his 
solicitor, or to Mr. Hodson himself. He replied 
3 


34 


THE SWEETEST SOLACE 


that Mr. Hodson’s position precluded his accept- 
ing without disclosing the matter to his principals, 
and that neither of you two gentlemen would un- 
dertake the task without requiring further infor- 
mation which he was not prepared to give. I 
demurred, but he pressed me so sorely, and seemed 
so agitated at my refusal, that I assented against 
my better judgment. During the years that have 
elapsed I have not heard from Mr. Hodson. So 
in a few weeks’ time I shall seek that interview 
and act forthwith to the best of my imperfect 
lights.” 

“ Thomas Swannick,” said the Admiral, a few 
minutes later, when they had returned to the 
office, “ what does all this mean? ” 

“ Copper wire,” replied Swannick, laconically. 

“ I am afraid I don’t understand,” said the 
Admiral, to whom the answer seemed cryptic in 
the extreme. 

“ It’s simple enough,” answered the solicitor. 
“ Five or six years ago electricians discovered that 
in the manufacture of wire for electrical transmis- 
sion the basic material should be copper. Conse- 
quently, the value of that metal rose enormously, 
and our friend Mr. Angus Macalister appeared in 
England. I knew from the financial papers that 
he raised the money he wanted, mostly from old 
subscribers. Those new veins are not apocryphal, 
and Macalister is only waiting for a buoyant 
market to convert his association of friendly ad- 
venturers into a limited liability company at a 
handsome profit.” 


ELATION 


35 


“ You really believe that my brother went back 
on his solemn promise,” cried the Admiral pite- 
ously. 

“ Can you doubt it? Look at the sequence of 
events. Macalister writes. His request is re- 
fused. He calls in person, and finds your brother 
weakened by a terrible visitation. He leaves the 
house, thanking his old friend for his generosity. 
Can you doubt, I say, but that £6,000 drawn out 
the very next day went straight into Macaliser’s 
pocket, or that the contents of that tin box are the 
receipts for those two advancements?” 

“ Maybe,” replied the Admiral, “ but what is in 
that sealed package? Answer me that.” 

“ Manifestly the declaration of your brother’s 
wishes regarding Rex’s interests, which Macalister 
urged him to write at once, and which the engineer 
promised to put into operation so soon as they 
went to allotment. There are many matters to 
be considered in such conversions. The acceptance 
of shares in the new company in lieu of those in 
the syndicate, the advisability of selling altogether 
and taking hard cash, or, again, of gently unload- 
ing if the shares continued to rise. A shrewd 
man like your brather could easily lay down a 
general course of conduct by which Macalister 
could be guided. That the General did write 
these instructions with care and at length that 
portly package testifies. To me it is nO' less mani- 
fest that to show his brain was clear, despite his 
recent seizure, he asked Charles Marston to wit- 
ness the document.” 


36 THE SWEETEST SOLACE 

“ Witness It, yes,” retorted the Admiral, “ but 
to entrust it to him. To Charles Marston, the un- 
sophlstocated, unpractical Charles Marston ! It 
seems incredible.” 

“To whom else could he entrust It? He ad- 
mitted to Marston that he dare not apply tO' either 
of us. Mr. Hodson could not well refuse to 
watch the vicissitudes of the mining market, nor 
could he refuse to Inform a third party If a certain 
syndicate was converted into a company. Still less 
could he refuse to retain a tin box If that third 
party held the key, and was wholly responsible for 
the contents. But more he would not do without 
referring to the principals, and even for that much 
the General left him £250. General Gascoigne 
had to apply to Marston. And even that was so 
attended with the risk of refusal that he suppressed 
all mention of Macalister’s name, and merely asked 
Marston to hold the key and package, as it were, 
to the order of Mr. Hodson.” 

“ Ned could have sent his instructions straight 
to Macalister?” asked the Admiral, clinging to 
the last line of defence. 

“Yes, and Macalister would have produced the 
document at his death, if only for his own protec- 
tion, and Rex would, in the fulness of time, have 
known all. Your brother, let us in charity as- 
sume, believed In the Bhopal Works, but he also 
could not help recognising the chances of failure. 
He delayed the boy’s majority so as to give ample 
time for the scheme to mature. If during these 
years the flotation v/as successfully accomplished, 
then Rex would be the richer by some i-housanda 


ELATION 


37 


of pounds. If it failed utterly and irretrievably, 
not only would the boy be spared the enervating 
influence of delusive hopes, but also, which was, I 
do not doubt, far nearer your brother’s heart, he 
would never know that his patrimony had been 
curtailed by a foolish speculation. For apparently 
all Charles Marston has to do is to fling every 
scrap of evidence into his study fire and hold his 
tongue.” 

“ Foolish speculation, truly,” repeated the Ad- 
miral sadly. He could no longer withstand the 
logic of patent facts. “ Poor dear Ned, and if it 
comes to that, poor Rex too.” 

“You can keep your sympathy, so far as Rex is 
concerned,” said Swannick, with a jocund laugh. 

“ I don’t understand you,” said the Admiral 
quickly. 

“ Let me tell you, then, that the demand for 
copper is at this moment unprecedented, and Mac- 
alister, I am convinced, is only waiting a favoura- 
ble opportunity to issue his prospectus. That op- 
portunity must come within a very few months, 
for the Bank rate has fallen, and in every market 
securities are appreciating. Rest assured, long be- 
fore Mr. Helstone’s resignation is announced, the 
two receipts lying in that tin box will be converted 
into their equivalents in cash, and I would suggest 
that Admiral Gascoigne had ” 

He paused dramatically. 

“Had better do what?” cried the old sailor, 
beside himself with excitement. 

“ Had better think twice before he refuses Lord 
Streybridge’s offer.” 


CHAPTER V 


THE SCHOOLMISTRESS ARRIVES 

It will be gathered from Mr. Swannick’s allusion 
to his managing clerk’s domiciliary visit that Canon 
Marston had not gone farther in his selection of a 
mistress for the little school than the grave sweet- 
faced maiden whom he had met by chance, and 
who carried, as he thought, the most convincing 
of all testimonials between her shapely shoulders. 

So soon as Miss Alice Marston heard that the 
artful and mysterious stranger had been selected 
she expressed her opinion with vigour. As her 
brother received her reproaches with silence, she 
resolved to air her views to a more sympathetic 
audience and, popping on her bonnet, she flitted 
round the Square, telling her intimates how the 
poor deluded Canon had been ambuscaded in the 
garden by this designing minx who came from the 
colonies — a penal settlement, probably — “and 
who, my dear, did not know who her own father 
was or whence he came.” 

This, however, did not affect the issue, and one 
afternoon, just as young Rowly had finished his 
lunch and was looking disconsolately towards Mr. 
Swannick’s office, a cab laden with luggage drove 
up to No. 19 and a young lady stepped out. 

“ Good gracious, mother I ” cried the young man, 

38 


THE SCHOOLMISTRESS ARRIVES 39 

“ who do you think is the new school-marm, after 
all! Why the pretty girl who walked into the 
Square garden that afternoon in November — and 
look, there’s another girl getting out too — her 
sister unmistakably, but prettier, oh, a thousand 
times prettier. She looks like some beautiful trop- 
ical flower.” 

Bob Rowly was not an imaginative young man, 
but he could not have found a more apt or striking 
simile. Jessamine Francis was five years younger 
than her sister. She was, in fact, only seventeen 
and was therefore in the first flush of a strangely 
alluring beauty. Her hair was brown, but, being 
streaked through and through with gold, it pos- 
sessed that peculiar iridescence which is frequently 
seen in the hair of Irishwomen. Her eyes were 
of the deepest brown, soft and gentle as those of 
a fawn, expressive, too, in whose dark mysterious 
depths both tears and laughter lurked, and her 
cheeks, glowing as they were at the moment with 
expectation and hope, seemed to have caught the 
fleeting beauty of those exotic flowers amidst whose 
radiance she was born. Simple of mind and brave 
of heart, she looked at the world with perfect kind- 
liness, for hitherto she had found it kind. From 
her infancy she had been the pet of the station 
and the idol of her father. Nought had she ever 
found but fair words and tender courtesies; and 
over all from the hardy stockmen to the most 
dilapidated “ sundowner ” her childish rule was 
paramount. And so brought up under glowing 
skies with the strange wild passion for music in 


40 


THE SWEETEST SOLACE 


her heart, is it to be wondered at that this sweet, 
impulsive, gracious creature drank into her soul a 
vivid ecstasy of living? And when the sad day 
came and he who had guided their footsteps so 
carefully fared forth alone on the last long trail, 
and the children had to wander in strange coun- 
tries, Margaret stood between her sister and the 
brunt of life, and the harsh contact of the world 
was not allowed to chill that warm, impassioned 
nature. And to-day, on this sunny afternoon when 
the cab had driven away and the two sisters stood 
together alone, Margaret, with a look of maternal 
tenderness upon her sweet, grave face, drew Jessa- 
mine closely to her and said, “ Welcome, dear 
Jessy, to our new home. May God bless you in 
it, and make you very, very happy.” 

And thus for good or ill the two sisters came 
to Gascoigne Square. 

In a few days’ time the children arrived and 
there were separations and bitter tears; but the 
mothers took heart when they saw in whose hands 
their little ones were left and the children them- 
selves soon realised they had little to fear from 
the kind lady who dried their tears, tucked them 
up in bed and heard their prayers with never-fail- 
ing interest. Thus term began. Mrs. Stanley, 
the head mistress, failed to find those evidences of 
duplicity against which she had been warned, and 
the days passed in quiet toil and cheerful minis- 
tration to little wants. 

To Jessamine Francis, who had no teaching to 
do but a daily music lesson, nor other duties but 


THE SCHOOLMISTRESS ARRIVES 41 

that of relieving her sister during play hours, life 
in an old cathedral town was full of strange and 
unexpected interest. There were dim old streets 
to be explored, streets with medieval houses top- 
pling over on to their noses, and proverbs graven 
on the lintels of the doors. The curiosity shops, 
of which there were many, were a ceaseless source 
of delight to her fresh receptive mind, and as she 
peered at the medley within she wove round each 
object some quaint romantic story. And lastly 
there was the Cathedral, and no service is more 
beautiful than that of Whitborough. 

In these new-found joys Margaret had neces- 
sarily but little part. Her simple pleasure came 
in the evening, when the day’s work was done and 
the children were dreaming of their homes. In 
her own little sitting-room, the few books she had 
saved from the sale of her father’s library found 
a resting place. The Essays of Lamb and Mon- 
taigne, “Esmond,” the poems of George Herbert, 
Tennyson, and Longfellow, a quarto Shakespeare, 
and, so strange are the companions of the book- 
shelf, a battered copy of “ Handley Cross,” the 
fly-leaf of which was missing. Here, too, she hung 
a water-colour sketch she had once made of the 
Baroopna station, with its long low front and its 
paths running down to the slip-rails and the roses 
and jessamine clambering up the porch, and in the 
foreground old Robin, her father’s favourite horse. 

In this little snuggery, whilst Jessamine sang 
the songs her father had taught her as a child, 
Margaret would sit mending and darning for her 


42 


THE SWEETEST SOLACE 


little charges and reading in the glowing embers 
the st6ry of her own life. 

She could see the old home again without turn- 
ing to the picture on the wall, and her father, long 
and lithe, swinging himself into the saddle, or 
sitting in the verandah, meditatively stroking his 
short grey beard and gazing towards the distant 
hills with a wistful look in his dark, romantic 
eyes. 

Then her thoughts would naturally wander to 
the chain of events which connected the past in the 
Australian sheep-run with the present in an Eng- 
lish cathedral town. First and foremost there 
was the chance visit of Mr. Gascoigne “ passed 
on ” with a letter from Mr. Cox, of Garlonga. 
How remarkable was the partiality her father had 
shown for that bright-faced boy — he who ad- 
mitted none but the rough sailor, Ben Cox, to per- 
sonal intimacy; how interested he seemed in the 
young fellow’s description of his own home life — 
that life in Whitborough, with all its odd social 
distinctions and quaint formalities. And then 
there was her father’s death, and those brief mo- 
ments of delirium in which there fell from his 
dying lips the one or two brief sentences which 
Margaret alone heard, the purport whereof she 
could not understand, but from which she was fain 
to infer that in his childhood her father had lived 
with a mother in some town near the sea — for 
aught she knew, Melbourne or Sydney — and that 
he was sweet of voice, and that an old lady loved 
his singing. No more than that, so slightly was 


THE SCHOOLMISTRESS ARRIVES 43 

the veil lifted — and even of this revelation the 
girl had wisely kept her own counsel; then, five 
years later, her visit to Whitborough, the pilgrim- 
age to the Square, the chance meeting with the 
kind old clergyman and the employment by him 
of one of the very phrases which had fallen from 
her father’s lips, which convinced her then and 
there that his interest in their guest’s stories of 
Whitborough was not impersonal, but that, in some 
period in his life, he too had been acquainted with 
Gascoigne Square. Such were Margaret’s thoughts. 
But she faced them undismayed; for this convic- 
tion regarding her father’s past life, though 
strangely disturbing, had not deterred her from 
applying for the mistress-ship, — on the contrary, 
it had rather strengthened her intention. Henry 
Francis had been reticent of the past, but how reti- 
cent she had never realised until the prying ques- 
tion of Miss Marston had brought the hot blood 
tingling to her cheeks. She was willing to let 
matters rest. Sooner or later she would find out 
in the ordinary way when and under what circum- 
stances Henry Francis had lived or sojourned in 
Whitborough and had known “ the Square,” and 
why he had been silent regarding his former life. 
It behooved her, pending that discovery, to conceal 
the little that she knew from her sister. If, as was 
possible, their father had suffered some unmerited 
wrong or great misfortune, there was no reason 
why Jessamine should know it. In the meantime 
her own duty lay to hand, she must keep a smiling 
face amongst the children, to whom bright looks 


44 


THE SWEETEST SOLACE 


and merriment were as dew to flowers. And if 
sometimes her heart misgave her, and she felt that 
depression which is the invariable accompaniment 
of uncertainty, she would turn to the old copy of 
George Herbert and read a certain verse which her 
father had never tired of quoting: 

“Awake, sad heart, whom sorrow ever drowns. 

Take up thine eyes which feed on earth. 

Unfold thy forehead gathered into frowns 
Thy Saviour comes, and with Him mirth.” 

“ Not gloom, my children,” he would add, with 
kindling eyes and tender smile, “ but mirth.” 

But this continuous attitude of cheerful detach- 
ment which Margaret, following the example of 
her gentle, whimsical father, had assiduously culti- 
vated, is not natural in a very young girl, and as 
the weeks passed on and the first novelty of her 
surroundings wore off Jessamine Francis began to 
feel the life of social isolation not a little irksome. 
A few ladies connected with the Cathedral staff 
and the Committee of the High School had called, 
and though they appeared urbane enough, the act 
seemed rather official than personal, nor wholly 
devoid of a certain savour of patronage, and Jessy 
sometimes wondered if any of their neighbors, not 
the wives of Cathedral dignitaries with authorita- 
tive voices and gowns that clinked with jet bugles, 
would ever deign to call. 

Of course, the arrival of the two girls had not 
failed to excite both interest and comment in Gas- 
coigne Square. Many waited to see if anybody 


THE SCHOOLMISTRESS ARRIVES 45 

who was “ anybody ” would call upon a mere 
schoolmistress. Unfortunately, Miss Marston’s 
innuendos had circulated for the most part among 
the “anybodies,” and they with one accord held 
aloof. 

There was one person in the Square, however, 
who was admittedly a “ nobody,” to wit, Mrs. 
Rowly, and Miss Marston’s unkind remarks had 
reached her through the medium of a friend who 
pirouetted on the social border line. Mrs. Rowly 
was attracted by the appearance of the two girls 
and resolved to judge of them for herself, and by 
a question or two, artfully and tactfully pressed, 
ascertained whether Miss Marston had the slight- 
est ground for her suspicions. Accordingly she 
called. 

Now the good lady, who was at all times nerv- 
ous in society, was not a little disconcerted by the 
self-possessed manner in which the “ mere school- 
mistress ” received her, and she proceeded to 
plunge headlong into a dissertation upon the life 
and manners of Gascoigne Square — its presumed 
social advantages for “ them as cared for such 
things,” the airs some of their neighbours assumed 
in consequence, wherein they only followed the 
example of the Gascoignes themselves — and had 
just commenced to dilate upon the almost feudal 
autocracy of the present occupant of Gascoigne 
House and his unaccountable aversion to bottle 
entrances as an adjunct to the Wine and Spirit 
business, when the front door opened, there was a 
sound of merry voices, and in a few seconds Jessa- 


46 THE SWEETEST SOLACE 

mine, all radiant and glowing with her recent ex- 
ercise, entered the room. 

“ May I introduce my sister,” said Margaret, 
looking with undisguised pride at the beautiful 
girl. “ Jessy, this is Mrs. Rowly, a neighbour of 
ours in this Square.” 

“ Over the way, young ladies, as the expression 
goes,” replied Mrs. Rowly graciously. “And I 
know you well by sight, seeing you often coming 
back in the dusk of the evening.” 

Jessamine replied that she frequently attended 
the afternoon service at the Cathedral. 

“ That’s what my Robert said. One lady, I 
won’t say who, said it’s a young man, but says 
Robert, ‘ It’s those procrastinating anthems.’ 
And so you’re fond of music, young lady? ” 

“ Oh yes, I am very fond of music,” replied 
Jessamine, smiling. 

Mrs. Rowly saw her opportunity, and clearing 
her throat with a gulp enquired softly: 

“And hereditary gift, no doubt; your ma played, 
or perhaps sang.” 

“ Our mother died when my sister was bom,” 
replied Margaret gravely. “ I do not fancy she 
was particularly musical.” 

“ Then be sure your pa was musical. Studied 
in his youth? On the Continent, perhaps, eh?” 

“ He was certainly very musical,” answered 
Margaret, “ but I never heard him mention that 
he had studied on the Continent.” 

“ Well, for the matter of that,” continued Mrs. 
Rowly, speaking very rapidly, “ he could get as 


THE SCHOOLMISTRESS ARRIVES 47 

good music lessons in England as abroad, if he 
had it in him. So I daresay your relations over 
here will tell you when your pa was young he 
went to those trying cantatas as other boys go to a 
dog fight.” 

Now Jessamine expected Margaret to reply that 
they had not as yet met any relations in England, 
but her sister merely answered, “ No doubt he was 
fond of classical music in his youth, as all real 
musicians are.” 

“ Unless, of course,” said Mrs. Rowly, who 
was a little piqued at the ambiguous answer, “ he 
was born in Australia, which is a very nice country, 
from what I hear, with lots of those pretty kanga- 
roos to kill, and a very proper prejudice against 
class distinction and ‘ stuck-ups ’ generally.” 

“ Oh, there are social gradations there too,” 
replied Margaret imperturbably; “ only, of course, 
they are not nearly so accentuated, and men are 
taken pretty much as they are.” 

“A good thing too,” cried Mrs. Rowly, who, 
though she could see that Miss Marston had 
grounds for her suspicions, felt sorry for the girls, 
especially the elder, and hastened to put her at her 
ease — “ and a good thing too, for when it comes 
to family relations, some of the salt of the earth 
never had a grandfather. I come of decent stock, 
though I says it, my pa being a Nibblet — one of 
the Nibblets of Pepper Street, and my mother was 
a Spenley of — well, some other street in Whit- 
borough — but who ma’s ma was I haven’t the 
slightest notion, nor ever had the time or curiosity 


THE SWEETEST SOLACE 


to enquire, except that her sister, my aunt Emily, 
married a corn chandler in Dundee, for his funeral 
card, ‘ with the full and perfect hope,’ in violet 
capitals, is still hanging in our spare bedroom. 
Well,” she concluded, “ I shall hope to see some- 
thing more of you. You must come to supper 
some Sunday, just ourselves, remains from dinner 
and one hot dish. It’s my dear husband’s favorite 
meal in the whole week; he wears slippers and is 
just the man that God made, and even poor Robert 
tries to shake off Harris. It will never do for you 
to know no one in the Square.” 

“ Oh, but I hope we shall know at least one 
other person in the Square,” said Jessamine with a 
merry smile. “ Isn’t there an Admiral Gascoigne 
who lives in the big house behind the statue? ” 

“ There is ! ” replied Mrs. Rowly with a gasp. 

“ Well, his nephew, Mr. Rex Gascoigne, stayed 
with us in Australia and I suppose he’ll be coming 
to stay with his uncle. So you see we shall know 
him, at any rate.” 

Mrs. Rowly gave a look of mingled wrath and 
anguish at Margaret Francis, .who hastened to 
assuage the poor lady’s indignation. 

“ I had no opportunity of explaining to you that 
young Mr. Gascoigne came to us in the way peo- 
ple do in the colonies, with a letter of introduction 
from a neighboring squatter. We think nothing 
of that sort of thing over here.” 

“ Possibly not,” replied Mrs. Rowly. “ It’s not 
for me to say, not having left my native land, 
except to the Channel Islands for my wedding 


THE SCHOOLMISTRESS ARRIVES 49 

trip, and very sick I was. Well, I only hope if 
his uncle calls you’ll like him. I don’t, and I 
don’t mind who knows it. Hem! In the mean- 
time, should you care for our humble hospitality 
and our homely ways, we shall be very glad to see 
you both.” 

“ I am afraid somehow she does not like Ad- 
miral Gascoigne,” said Margaret, when the door 
closed. 

“ She certainly seemed to be prejudiced,” re- 
joined her sister, “ though I’m sure she’s kind. 
But oh 1 how inquisitive she was. I say, Maggie, 
it’s a lucky thing father was a man of position 
whose life was open and above board, isn’t it? ” 

“ People who live in a small world are inquisi- 
tive,” replied Margaret, who had been no less 
impressed by Mrs. Rowly’s curiosity as to their 
parentage but who was fain to hope that her sister 
had not noticed it. 

“ I’ll tell you what,” continued Jessy with a 
laugh, “ it must be very terrible to be the children 
of some one who had ‘ done something,’ as the say- 
ing is. Of course there used to be lots of them in 
the colonies in the old days. It would all come 
out quickly enough if everybody asked questions 
like that good lady. Though, for the matter of 
that,” she added gravely, “ perhaps it would be 
really better if the truth did come out and at once. 
Do you remember a lady at the hotel at Sidney 
telling us of a poor girl in her native township, 
Taroona, who married a young Englishman travel- 
ling through the country — well, just as Mr. 


THE SWEETEST SOLACE 


50 

Gascoigne was doing when he came to us. Then, 
when she was married hard and fast, his relations, 
as relations do, made enquiries and little by little 
it all came out that her father had borne another 
name in England and had been expelled from his 
club for cheating at cards, and how she pined away, 
and, despite all the assurance of her husband, 
died quite young from sheer regret and misery?” 

“ I remember the story. It was a very sad one,” 
said Maggie, looking into the Square. 

“ And I should have died too,” continued Jessy. 
“For the more you loved a man the more you 
would wish to spare him and your children the 
legacy of shame — even though it was not your 
fault. I can remember Mrs. Osgood’s words, as 
it were yesterday, ‘ People with stories should keep 
apart and not bring a bad strain into a pure clean 
race.’ And so, dear Maggie, how glad we ought 
to be that everyone can know who we are and 
where we came from. By the way, I suppose our 
father did come from England. Like all children, 
I never paid much heed to such things.” 

But Margaret possibly did not hear the question. 
She certainly vouchsafed no reply, for she hastened 
down to the children who had been left too long 
to their own devices. 


CHAPTER VI 

UNCLE AND NEPHEW 

“ I WISH the lad wouldn’t whistle in the hall,” 
murmured Admiral Gascoigne to himself, as he sat 
in the room on the first floor of Gascoigne House, 
which he used as a morning-room. ‘‘ I am afraid 
it shows the irreflective mind, and,” he added, 
with a sigh, “ I miss it so when the boy’s away.” 

Suddenly the refrain ceased, a light footstep 
came bounding up the stairs, and Rex Gascoigne 
entered the room. 

If as an eminent lawyer was wont to affirm, 
success at the Bar depended chiefly upon the pos- 
session of animal spirits, then was Rex Gascoigne 
well on his way to the Woolsack, for no more high- 
spirited lad ever drank wine with the Benchers; 
and what he was he looked. His mother had been 
a very beautiful woman with warm colouring, and 
Rex, unlike the Gascoignes, was a ruddy youth, 
and his chestnut hair had that tinge of red in it 
which goes with a sanguine temperament. An 
Adonis no one could call him, for his face was not 
so regular as was that of his Gascoigne forbears. 
But it also lacked their grim hardness. His was 
none the less a strong, manly countenance, with 
bright blue eyes, good square jaw, and a nose 

51 


52 


THE SWEETEST SOLACE 


which, if not strictly classical, was, as he was wont 
to say, quite good enough for a lawyer. 

The Admiral looked at his nephew with a whim- 
sical expression, and not for the first time passed 
his hand over his upper lip. Rex coloured a little 
and laughed. The moustache, which since he re- 
turned from Australia he had tenderly cherished, 
had been sacrificed only a few days before to the 
exigencies of his new profession. 

“ Ah, Rex, my boy, you look quite the lawyer 
now.’’ The old man suppressed a little sigh. He 
considered the profession of arms was the vocation 
of a Gascoigne. “ I suppose,” he added thought- 
fully, “ you would not care to relinquish the pro- 
fession? ” 

“How could I? I must do something. The 
income I shall come into in a few weeks will sup- 
port me during my time of probation. But it 
wouldn’t go far in idleness.” 

“ I wouldn’t have you an idle man for worlds. 
I alluded rather to some more ambitious career; 
but that’s neither here nor there,” said the Ad- 
miral, thinking that under the circumstances Lord 
Streybridge’s proposal had better come from his 
own more eloquent lips. “ Tell me, Rex,” he con- 
tinued, “ did your father ever lead you to suppose 
that your inheritance would be a little more than 
it has turned out to be? ” 

“ He never said anything definite on the subject, 
but I certainly thought I should have had a little 
more. But what does it matter. No doubt my 
poor dear father over-estimated his resources; or, 


UNCLE AND NEPHEW 


53 

what Is more probable, lost a lot of money just be- 
fore he died.” 

“ Why do you think that? ” asked the Admiral 
quickly. 

“ Because Dr. Reynolds felt convinced that his 
first paralytic stroke was due to some shock — and 
he pressed me closely whether I had sent my father 
some bad news from Australia; for he was struck 
down just after he had received the morning’s mall. 
Now I cannot help thinking he must have received 
a letter from some other source that agitated him; 
for, as an actual fact, the letter he received from 
me was written under the happiest circumstances, 
and described the jolly life I was leading whilst 
staying with Mr. Francis, at Baroopna.” 

“ Francis, Francis,” repeated the Admiral, “ of 
course It was from you I heard the name ! ” 
Canon Marston had designedly suppressed his can- 
didate’s acquaintance with the volatile Rex Gas- 
coigne, and Miss Alicia’s reflections thereon had 
not reached the Admiral’s ear. “ A common name 
In Australia, I daresay,” he continued. 

“ I cannot say. I did not come across anyone 
else of that name. Why do you ask? ” 

“ Oh, a small matter. Two girls, colonials, I 
understand, have recently come by themsdves to 
the Square as mistresses to a little school they 
have opened at No. 19.” 

“ Mr. Francis had two daughters, certainly,” 
Rex replied, “ but It could not possibly be them. 
Jessy, the younger, was a mere child.” 

“ That was four or five years ago, and four 


54 


THE SWEETEST SOLACE 


years make a difference in a young girl. Not that 
I suppose for one moment they are the same, for 
why should they be here?” 

“Exactly; my friends were well off, according 
to the colonial standard, and, of course, their 
father would be with them. Still, these girls may 
be relations of the Baroopna people. I should cer- 
tainly like to call and enquire,” he continued, ris- 
ing up in his impulsive manner. 

“Well, you can’t call now, anyway,” laughed 
his uncle, “ for Lord Streybridge is coming here in 
a very few minutes, and particularly wishes to see 
you. Besides, I fancy, from something I heard, 
these girls are colonial bred. So, if your host was 
an Englishman, the chance of relationship is small.” 

“ He may have been an Englishman. He spoke 
like an Englishman, and he rode like an English- 
man ; and he had, I should say, an English saddle, 
with a high cantle like father’s.” 

“ Your father’s saddle was made by old Hall, 
of Canterbury, who forty years ago had a good 
trade with the garrison. Perhaps the saddle once 
belonged to some soldier who sold out and colon- 
ised. How did you come to know this Mr. 
Francis? ” 

“Well — in a way, through yourself.” 

“Through me! ” exclaimed his uncle. “Why, 
I never heard of the man in my life! ” 

“ I said, in a way. I happened to be staying 
at the Southern Cross Hotel for the Sydney races, 
and in the hotel was a curious little man named 
Cox.” 


UNCLE AND NEPHEW 


55 


“ Ah, that’s a much more common name,” inter- 
rupted the Admiral. “ Pve known several of 
them.” 

“Well, you didn’t know this particular Cox, 
otherwise he would have mentioned it, and what’s 
more, you wouldn’t have forgotten the acquaint- 
ance; for he was a most appalling man to look at, 
with only one eye and a great scar running down 
the left side of his face. He turned out to be a 
small squatter in New South Wales, but the other 
squatters looked askance at him. Feeling sorry 
for him in his loneliness I made a point of speak- 
ing to him, and he really seemed quite touched. 
Well, one evening in the smoking-room he asked 
me if I was related to the Captain Gascoigne who 
once commanded the Diadem^ and saved a blue- 
jacket’s life by diving into Sydney Harbour. I 
replied that an uncle of mine had certainly com- 
manded the Diadem a good many years ago, but 
that I had not heard of that particular incident.” 

“ Pooh, pooh, it was nothing,” protested the 
Admiral. “ A silly young fellow, skylarking aloft, 
fell overboard. He couldn’t swim — I could. 
That was all; but, of course, the gentleman of the 
Press made a good deal more of the episode than 
it deserved.” 

“Well, it apparently made a great impression 
upon my ill-favoured little friend, who talked of 
it and of you with great admiration, and so we got 
in the way of having a smoke together in the 
evenings. Well, on the last day of the races a 
couple of roughs set upon me as I was coming off 


56 THE SWEETEST SOLACE 

the course, and just when they had got me down, 
Cox, who had observed them following me, ran up 
and laid about them so lustily with his heavy 
knobbed stick, that I regained my feet and my 
assailants fled. Now he was a man of over sixty, 
and small at that. I admired his pluck and felt 
very grateful, and we got chummier than ever, and 
when he asked me to go to his station when the 
races were over I readily accepted. I spent ten 
days with him at Garlonga and had some excellent 
shooting, and, then, in the colonial fashion, he 
passed me on to Baroopna, with a note of intro- 
duction to Mr. Francis, whom my rough illiterate 
little friend regarded with a reverence that ap- 
proached idolatry. So you see. Uncle Jack, the 
far-reaching results of a good action. If you 
hadn’t dived after that bluejacket in Sydney Har- 
bour I should never have known Mr. Francis and 
his beautiful daughters.” 

“Beautiful, eh, Rex?” said the Admiral 
thoughtfully; “ from what I’m told these girls 
are beautiful.” 

“ Really,” cried Rex, walking to and fro. “ But 
it cannot be them. Their father would be here — 
unless,” he stopped, and an anxious look came into 
his eyes. “ And what has become of the station? 
They could not have been ruined in the financial 
panic that happened after the great drought. Oh, 
Uncle Jack, I do wish I knew I ” 

“ Well, my boy, you’ll know in a few minutes’ 
time, for they return every morning from their 


UNCLE AND NEPHEW 


57 

walk about this time. Keep your eye on Tremlett 
Lane.” 

That narrow thoroughfare lies on the north-east 
corner of the Square, so Rex, by opening the 
window and craning his neck, was able to watch the 
entrance. He waited for some minutes, and the 
tramp of little feet was heard, and the procession 
passed into the Square, at the tail of which walked 
the two sisters. 

One glance was enough. Rex drew back into 
the room, and crying, “You were right, uncle, 
Jessy has grown in the last four years.” He 
dashed down the stairs and into the Square. 

The Admiral walked to the open window and 
heard his nephew cry: 

“ Miss Francis, Jessy, don’t you know me? I 
am Rex Gascoigne, who stayed with you at 
Baroopna.” 

Admiral Gascoigne popped his head out of the 
window ; he was interested at the unexpected meet- 
ing. He saw the two girls stop, and that the face 
of the younger of the twain — a superlatively 
lovely girl — was illumined by a very charming 
smile, which passed away when her sister had said 
something to Rex. 

The young man followed by their side, talking 
the while very earnestly until they arrived at the 
school door, when the girls put out their hands to 
say good-bye. But Rex evidently desired to hear 
something more, for he entered the house with 
them, though the Admiral noticed that the elder 
made a slight gesture of protest. 


58 THE SWEETEST SOLACE 


“ Rex is very impulsive,” muttered the Admiral 
to himself. “ I wish he had not gone in, and this 
morning of all others, when he knows Streyb ridge 
may be here at any moment.” Suddenly there was 
a rattle of horses, and a mail phaeton, drawn by a 
pair of superb bays and driven by a young man, 
came clanking into the Square. 

The Admiral closed the window with a bang. 
“Just as I expected. Here comes Prince For- 
tunatus.” 


CHAPTER VII 


THE CAP OF FORTUNATUS 

Well, indeed, might Admiral Gascoigne apply this 
sobriquet to the young man who was now standing 
on the steps of Gascoigne House. Fortunate, in- 
deed, was Julian Helstone, second Earl of Strey- 
bridge. Physical beauty was a hereditary ap- 
pendage of his family, and of all the “ handsome 
Helstones ” none had been better favoured. Tall 
and straight, he bore himself with that perfect dis- 
tinction of which the possessor is unconscious. 
His profile was as faultless as that of a Greek 
cameo. The brow was broad and high and 
crowned with clustering curls. The nose was 
straight, the shaven upper lip was short, the chin 
firm and round, and the blue eyes, large and lumi- 
nous, had an expression of calm benignity unusual 
in a man so young. With no less lavish hand had 
the other gifts of life been poured into his cradle. 
His wealth was enormous. In the realms of intel- 
lect and politics he had already, at nine-and-twenty, 
given the earnest of a great career. Of his good- 
ness all the world spoke, and none so loudly as 
those who were privileged to know him intimately. 

On being shown up to the morning-room Lord 
Streybridge found Admiral Gascoigne waiting on 
the threshold to receive him. The young peer ac- 
59 


6o 


THE SWEETEST SOLACE 


cepted the old man’s courtesies with an exquisite 
politeness, but his brow contracted when he noticed 
that his host was alone. 

“ I hoped I should have found Rex here,” he 
exclaimed as he entered the room. 

“ The fault is to a certain extent mine,” the Ad- 
miral hastened to explain. “ I was anxious that 
Rex should receive your generous proposal from 
your own lips, so I avoided discussing the pur- 
port of your visit. A few minutes ago, the two 
young ladies, who are keeping the school at No. 
19, passed the window and he recognised them as 
the daughters of an Australian squatter with whom 
he stayed. On the impulse of the moment he ran 
into the Square and followed them to the house. 
He must be back in a minute or two.” 

“How very like the impulsive Rex,” laughed 
Lord Streyb ridge. “ All, well, I would forgive 
him more than that. You know Rex was my fag 
at Eton — such a chubby-cheeked, cock-nosed little 
chap — full of fun and good spirits. I’ve been 
fond of the boy ever since. Indeed, my sister al- 
ways laughs at me and says I look upon Rex as a 
sort of younger brother.” 

The word went straight to the old sailor’s heart, 
for Lord Streybridge had an only sister who, in 
the Admiral’s estimation, personified perfect maid- 
enhood. Without a moment’s hesitation he turned 
his ship’s head into action. 

“ Lord Streybridge,” he said, rising from his 
chair and looking his guest full in the face, “ if 


THE CAP OF FORTUNATUS 6i 


circumstances permitted, would you be prepared to 
receive my nephew literally as a brother?” 

Lord Streybridge was far too quick-witted not 
to appreciate the Admiral’s meaning and his face 
flushed. 

“ You mean, would I deter my sister from mar- 
rying him. I confess such a contingency never 
entered my head.” 

“ Pardon my foolish phantasy,” said the Ad- 
miral, not without a pathetic dignity. “ Your sis- 
ter has always possessed for me an inexplicable 
charm — perhaps due to her invariable kindness 
to an old man. Let us say no more about it.” 

“ But my dear Admiral,” replied Lord Strey- 
bridge with great earnestness, “ do not think that 
I reject the proposition for one moment. It was 
only that your suggestion took me by surprise. I 
have seen enough of life to know the dangers of 
worldly and conventional marriages. If Armine 
cared for Rex I should not stand in their way for 
a moment. But she has a right to expect a cer- 
tain position in the world, and a good deal would 
depend upon the answer Rex gives me this morn- 
ing. After all the matter does not lie in my hands. 
Rex shall have the opportunities of meeting my 
sister he has hitherto had, but whether he will suc- 
ceed in winning her heart is another matter.” 

“ Of course,” replied the Admiral with a secret 
thrill of triumph. For he bethought him of a 
quick look of involuntary tenderness which came 
into the eyes of Lady Armine Helstone when Rex 
had once done her some trifling act of courtesy. It 


62 


THE SWEETEST SOLACE 


rested there but a fleeting moment, but the Ad- 
miral had keen sight. Once before he had seen 
that expression in a woman’s eyes. It was in those 
of Peggy Blackiston; but, alas, it was not for him 
they kindled. 

“ Of course, that must lie with Rex himself. 
By the way, you might bring Lady Armine here 
to tea next Sunday after the Cathedral. Oh, you 
needn’t laugh. Well, here is the truant,” and Rex 
in a few seconds entered the room. 

“ I’m sorry I’m late, Julian,” said Rex as he 
entered the room. “ I’ve been having ten minutes’ 
talk with two old Australian friends — Miss Fran- 
cis and her sister. They have lost their father 
and the elder is the new mistress at ” 

“ Oh, yes. I’ve heard of her,” interrupted Lord 
Streybridge. “ You know I am Chairman of the 
School Committee. I do most devoutly hope your 
friend will prove satisfactory,” he continued with 
a little sigh of resignation. “ You see I am Chair- 
man of the School Committee and when things go 
wrong upon me falls the unwelcome task of repri- 
manding these young ladies.” 

Rex Gascoigne’s face grew very red. The 
thought of the stately Margaret being reproved by 
anyone was disconcerting but that she should suf- 
fer this indignity at the hands of his own particular 
friend was peculiarly distasteful. But of course 
he could say nothing and Lord Streybridge spoke 
in all kindliness. 

“ Well,” he continued, “ I haven’t come here 
to criticize the qualifications of your young friend, 


THE CAP OF FORTUNATUS 63 

who let us hope will prove a great success. And, 
as I haven’t too much time, we may as well dis- 
cuss the purport of my presence here this morning. 
My uncle, Lancelot Helstone, has intimated to me 
privately that he intends to retire from the House 
of Commons at the end of the present session. I 
have come here this morning to ask you whether 
you will stand for the vacancy? Of course, your 
candidature would have to be submitted to the 
party leaders. But assuming no objection is raised, 
you would have an excellent chance of getting the 
seat. For though I never interfere with the con- 
sciences of my tenants, whoever has my support 
will, in all human probability, get in.” 

“ Will I stand for Whitborough ” cried the 
astonished young barrister, “ as your nominee ? 
I should think I would indeed. It’ll give me a 
start at the Bar nothing else would.” 

“ I am sorry to dispel your hopes,” replied Lord 
Streybridge. “ But this particular seat will give 
you no such start. I do not approve of men using 
politics as a means to other ends. If you take 
the seat you must attend in the House regularly, 
serve on committees, and, if possible, become 
Private Secretary to a Cabinet Minister. This 
will exhaust all the hours of a working day. And 
so you must relinquish the profession of the Bar.” 

Rex Gascoigne listened to this exordium with a 
sinking heart. It seemed as though the prize had 
been dangled before his eyes only to be snatched 
away again. 

“ I know what you are thinking of Rex,” said 


64 THE SWEETEST SOLACE 

Lord Streybridge as he watched the lad’s tell-tale 
face. “ It is hard to give up a career upon which 
you have set your heart. But you will not be 
without compensation. There is no phase of life 
so fascinating as that of politics; no atmosphere 
so electric as that of Westminster; no arena so 
noble as the floor of the House of Commons. 
Also, from a mere person you become at one bound 
a personage. Every door is open to you. You 
are brought into contact with everyone worth 
knowing, and this is to be yours for the mere 
asking.” 

“ I am sure I am very grateful to you, Julian,” 
answered Rex eagerly, for his quick imagination 
had heen fired by his friend’s eulogy of the career 
political. “ But my difficulty is this — I do not 
see how 1 can keep up even the most modest posi- 
tion in London Society and subscribe to the local 
funds upon the very limited income I shall inherit 
in three months’ time.” 

“ I can assure you it will not cost anything like 
what you anticipate. A single man can do it quite 
comfortably on a thousand a year and I know of 
some who have even less.” 

“Even less,” cried Rex ruefully. “ I shan’t 
have more than six hundred a year.” 

“ Really,” exclaimed Lord Streybridge, mani- 
festly disconcerted. “ I never enquired what you 
had, but from conversations I have had with your 
father I certainly gathered that you would have 
considerably more than that. 1 admit what you 


THE CAP OF FORTUNATUS 65 

tell me is a grave obstacle, for there are certain 
calls which must be met.” 

Admiral Gascoigne rose from his chair. The 
withdrawal of the offer meant so much — the loss 
of a career, the possible loss of Lady Armine Hel- 
stone. If Swannick was right in his forecast of 
the Bhopal resuscitation, and if General Gas- 
coigne’s subscriptions to Macalister’s venture were 
really recoverable, there would be no difficulty 
about the money question. In any case it would 
be folly to refuse the offer until that question 
was settled. 

“ The obstacle is not unsurmountable,” he said. 
“ I am in hopes that if Rex does not actually 
find himself in possession of a clear thousand a 
year, a sum sufficient to fill the position with dig- 
nity may be placed at his disposal.” 

“ Oh, Uncle Jack,” said Rex. “ I cannot take 
it from you. You have been too good to me 
already.” 

“ I don’t say what I can do,” replied the Admiral 
evasively. “ The vacancy won’t occur for a year, 
and if Lord Streyb ridge will allow the offer to re- 
main open for just three months, I will see what 
can be done.” 

“ I am quite willing to do that,” said Lord Strey- 
bridge; “only, of course, if you cannot raise say 
nine hundred a year, you must allow me to with- 
draw my offer.” 

“ Come, come, Rex, say you will accept it,” cried 
the Admiral. 

“Yes, Julian, I accept your offer under those 
6 


66 THE SWEETEST SOLACE 

conditions,” answered Rex with a mist before his 
eyes. 

“ Very well, that’s settled,” cried Lord Strey- 
bridge, with a gay laugh, “ and now I’m ready 
for my Uncle Barkly, for, my dear boy, though 
the submission of your name to our party leaders 
is the greatest compliment I could pay you, my 
action is not entirely disinterested. My excellent 
uncle, I know, regards the reversion of the seat 
as his own and I fancy he has got to hear of 
Lancelot’s intentions. For reasons which I need 
not particularise I do not intend to support his 
candidature. The fact, therefore, that I have al- 
ready promised my support to someone else will 
release me from the unpleasant task of having to 
refuse my father’s brother. I see in to-day’s paper 
the acceptances of one of the Spring handicaps, 
so we may take it that he will drop in on his 
crony Swannick and take him out to lunch at the 
club. At any rate I can give him a quarter of an 
hour’s law.” 

They sat at the window chatting in the sun- 
shine whilst the Admiral chuckled over Barkly 
Helstone’s impending discomfiture. The Honour- 
able Barkly Helstone was the one member of the 
family whom the Admiral did not like. Years be- 
fore he had gone back on his word to the Admiral 
over a very trifling matter and the latter had 
ever since regarded him as a shifty, undependable 
rogue. 

“ Ah, I thought as much,” said Lord Strey- 
bridge, as, after a few minutes’ waiting, the burly 


THE CAP OF FORTUNATUS 67 

form of Swannick appeared round the corner of 
Gascoigne flags. He was accompanied by a tall, 
slight man, who at first sight appeared to be almost 
in the bloom of youth. A closer scrutiny discov- 
ered certain puckers in the full, pleasant mouth, 
and a network of tiny wrinkles under the merry 
blue eyes. 

“ I’m off. Admiral,” cried Lord Streybridge. 
“ You can watch the interview.” 

Lord Streybridge sauntered unconcernedly round 
the Square, and as he approached the two men 
he nodded to them with mu^:' -^flability and passed 
on. But, as he had anticipate^, his progress was 
checked by hearing his uncle exclaim : 

“ My dear Julian, you’re the very man of all 
others, I want. Could I have a word with you ? ” 

His manner was charming and his voice would 
have wooed the very shyest bird from the very 
tallest tree. 

“ Oh, certainly,” replied Lord Streybridge, as 
Swannick, responsive to his companion’s glance, 
went on. 

‘‘ There’s a rumour going about,” continued 
Barkly Helstone, “ that Lancelot is thinking of 
retiring at the end of the session; if this is the 
case I think I should like to stand for the City 
myself.” 

“ I can’t prevent your standing,” answered the 
nephew politely. 

“ Perhaps not, but you can effectually prevent 
my getting in if you don’t support me.” 

“ In that case I shouldn’t stand, if I were you, 


68 THE SWEETEST SOLACE 

for I have already promised my support to another 
aspirant.’’ 

“ You have! ” ejaculated Barkly Helstone, with 
an awful glint of anger in his bright eyes. 

He controlled his feelings, however, and pro- 
ceeded with his usual charming suavity. 

“ It’s a bit hard. ’Pon my soul, it’s uncommon 
hard.” 

“ I don’t think Barkly Helstone has cause to 
complain of any hardness from me or mine.” 

“ Oh, of course, if you allude to the £700 a 
year your father allowed me after that awful Ascot 
and which you have continued, I ought, I suppose, 
to be on my marrow-bones now. Still, I’m the 
only Helstone left now and we’ve held the seat ever 
since the Gascoignes threw up the sponge forty 
years ago.” 

“ I believe some people in the City think it’s 
high time some other family had an innings,” 
remarked Lord Streybridge blandly. 

“ Oh, of course, if we’re going to be as mag- 
nanimous as all that,” said the uncle with a sneer 
he could not control, “ there’s nothing more to be 
said. Don’t you think you might complete the 
self-denying ordinance and offer the seat to a Gas- 
coigne? ” 

“ One might go farther and fare worse,” re- 
torted Lord Streybridge as he turned on his heel. 

“ Sanctimonious young prig 1 What did he 
mean, ‘ go farther and ’ — by Heaven, I have it, it 
is young Rex Gascoigne ! ” and with a spasm of 
rage in his heart he looked up the windows of 


THE CAP OF FORTUNATUS 69 

Gascoigne House, only to see the Admiral watch- 
ing him with a sardonic grin. 

Strong as was the man’s self-control, an oath 
rose to his lips and he rapped his cane sharply on 
the pavement. 

“ Ha, ha,” laughed the Admiral. “ Our friend 
Barkly doesn’t take it quite so philosophically as 
I had anticipated. Poor devil I He certainly has 
a sort of claim on the seat for all he’s such a 
rascal. Upon my word, Rex, I don’t think you 
half appreciate Lord Streybridge’s generosity in the 
matter. Indeed, I sometimes think that, being an 
old school-fellow, you don’t treat him with quite 
the respect his position demands. I don’t think, 
for instance, that he liked your absence to-day, and 
I hope you’ll contrive to be here next Sunday, for 
he has promised to bring his sister to tea.” 

“ That’s most unfortunate. Uncle Jack,” replied 
Rex uneasily, “ for I have suggested to Miss 
Francis and her sister that I would go to tea there 
on Sunday and hear all they had to tell me.” 

Admiral Gascoigne looked annoyed. He was 
himself most punctilious in his engagements, and 
the fact that these girls were poor and in trouble 
was an additional reason why their feelings should 
be respected. So he did not ask Rex to cancel 
the engagement, but he could not forbear adding : 
“ I don’t think I should go there too much. The 
two girls are uncommonly good-looking and there 
are a lot of gossiping old women in the Square, 
and I’m bound to say, it would have been much 


70 


THE SWEETEST SOLACE 


better if some lady of recognised position were 
present, when you call on Sunday.” 

“ That’s the very thing that struck me, Uncle 
Jack,” replied Rex demurely, “ and after lunch 
I’m going to take steps to secure the presence of 
that lady of recognised position.” 

“Who on earth d’ye mean?” cried the aston- 
ished uncle. 

“ Evergreen Peg, of course,” replied his nephew. 


CHAPTER VIII 


EVERGREEN PEG 

Miss Blackiston, the lady upon whose good na- 
ture Rex Gascoigne depended with such perfect 
confidence, lived in one of the smaller houses in 
the Square on the western side, and thither Rex 
repaired so soon as lunch was over. 

Having passed up a staircase, from the walls 
whereof departed Blackistons with merry eyes and 
port-wine noses loomed forth from dusky canvases, 
he was shown into a drawing-room crowded with 
china miniatures, pictures, and every kind of bric- 
a-brac. In one corner stood a gilded harp, several 
of whose strings drooped in melancholy limpness. 
Time was when the vivacious Peggy was wont 
to sing “ The Last Rose of Summer” and other 
sentimental ditties, the while lovelorn youths en- 
vied the instrument she caressed so coyly. But 
that was long ago and the pleasant faces that once 
filled the room were only seen now in the embers 
of the fire. For twenty years or more Miss Mar- 
garet Blackiston had ceased to care twopence 
whether that disconsolate flower bloomed alone or 
died, and had done with it. 

But Time, which had robbed the little lady of a 
pretty little voice and many desirable things, had 
not succeeded in depriving her of those qualities 

71 


72 


THE SWEETEST SOLACE 


from which she drew her nickname, to wit, good 
spirits, a high courage, sympathy of those she 
loved, and an ever-abiding remembrance that she 
was a Blackiston of Crook Hill. 

Rex waited for a few minutes and then Miss 
Blackiston appeared. She was below the middle 
height and inclined to stoutness; her hair, which 
was turned back off her forehead, was slightly grey ; 
her nose was undoubtedly retrousse^ and her mouth 
had a somewhat comic twist. The once radiant 
complexion had gone, as, indeed, had all the good 
looks which had gained hearts, except the big dark 
eyes, than which no eyes more eloquent, more 
tender, or more droll had ever shone in woman’s 
head. 

“ My dear Rex,” she commenced, and then 
laughed openly; “ I noticed this morning that you 
had shaved your moustache off. I hope your uncle 
appreciates your professional appearance. Poor 
Jack! Now you may tell me what you want me 
to do for you, for I’m not such a noodle as to 
suppose you’ve come here at this early hour to pay 
your respects to an old woman. Come, now, what 
is it? ” 

This reception was so entirely different from 
what he had anticipated that the embarrassed Rex 
was utterly unable to commence that pathetic re- 
cital of his young friends’ misfortune with which 
he intended to excite the old maid’s sympathies. 

“Well,” continued Peggy Blackiston, looking at 
him with a malicious little smile, “ if you won’t 
tell me, I suppose I must tell you. You want me 


“EVERGREEN PEG” 73 

to call upon the two young women who have lately 
come to No. 19.” 

“ Good gracious, Peggy, what on earth made 
you think of that? ” cried the astounded Rex. 

“ My process of reasoning is simple even for a 
woman,” she replied. “ I saw you go into the 
house with them this morning, although it was 
quite clear the elder of the two girls deprecated 
your imprudence. Your uncle gave you a good 
wigging for compromising them, and as you have 
already arranged to go there again, you rush here 
helter-skelter to implore me to act as chaperon. 
That implies a preliminary call. Am I right? ” 

“Yes,” answered Rex, resignedly, “you are 
quite right. And you will call, won’t you?” 

“ Indeed, I shall do nothing of the sort.” 

“ Oh, Peggy ! ” cried the astounded lad, “ and 
I depended on you to stop the scandal of all these 
gossiping old cats. I am sure you would call if 
you only knew how nice these girls are and what 
misfortunes they have suffered and how poor they 
are. When I stayed with them in Australia their 
father was alive, and they were well to do. Now 
they are orphans, with nothing but the elder sis- 
ter’s little salary, and they are without friends.” 

“ These girls are exceptionally beautiful, and, 
such is human nature, pretty women rarely lack 
friends,” replied Miss Blackiston. 

“ Yes, but what friends? ” cried Rex. “ People 
like Mrs. Rowly, who they tell me called only the 
other day.” 

“ That’s just it, Rex,” said Miss Blackiston, 


74 


THE SWEETEST SOLACE 


with conviction. “ It’s not so much the girls them- 
selves I mind meeting, but it’s the appalling people 
I shall find there. I don’t object to Mrs. Rowly; 
she knows her place and is, I daresay, a very 
worthy old soul, but some other ladies I could 
mention are a good deal more self-assertive. You 
know the wine trade is somewhat comprehensive. 
It includes the most dear, delightful fellows, re- 
tired soldiers, briefless barristers, and even, I am 
told, members of Parliament. But it also includes 
the sublimated grocer, and Mrs. Rowly’s cousin, 
Mrs. Merrydew, belongs to the latter social 
stratum. I gave her husband an order for some 
cheap claret last year, and now, whenever I meet 
her, she stands and languishes at me.” 

“ I think it’s very unlikely you would meet Mrs. 
Merrydew, and if you did she wouldn’t hurt you.” 

I don’t intend to meet her. Besides, Rex, 
you’ll excuse my asking you plump and plain, but 
wasn’t there something rather fishy about these 
young women’s father? ” 

“About Mr. Francis?” cried Rex indignantly. 
“ Who dared to utter such a calumny? ” 

“ Well, my dear, as an actual fact, it was old 
Alicia Marston. She said, with what truth I’m not 
prepared to say, that the schoolmistress could give 
no satisfactory account of her parentage.” 

“ Oh, what a cruel, wicked thing to say! I as- 
sure you, that I have never met in my life a more 
perfect gentleman that Mr. Francis, nor a home 
more refined and full of every kind of culture than 
the station at Baroopna. I can see now the dark- 


75 


“EVERGREEN PEG” 

ened drawing-room heavy with the scent of flow- 
ers, and Mr. Francis watching his children with 
that curious wistful expression in his dark romantic 
eyes. By the light of the shaded lamp Margaret 
would be reading, whilst Jessamine would sing in 
her sweet childish voice some song which her 
father had taught her, a tender ballad like the 
‘ Sands o’ Dee,’ or, more frequently, a German 
Burschen song, like ‘ Frau Wirthin’s Daughter.’ ” 
“ He cared for ‘ Frau Wirthin’s Daughter ’ ! ” 
exclaimed Peggy Blackiston, with an awe-stricken 
little tremor in her voice. 

“ Yes, it was the song he loved best of all,” 
replied Rex; “ but why, do you know it? ” 

“ I used to know it once, dear Rex. It’s a beau- 
tiful song. The most beautiful of all songs, I 
sometimes think, because it tells of the most beau- 
tiful of all things, the love that endures. No man 
who appreciated that song could be wholly bad, no 
matter what that atrocious old spitfire may say. 
In short, you have pleaded the cause of these girls, 
Rex, with an eloquence which speaks well for your 
future success, and I shall change my mind, as I 
often do, thank goodness, and so soon as I have 
written two or three letters I’ll toddle out and call 
— the sooner the better, for you may be quite sure 
the whole Square knows of your indiscreet visit this 
morning.” 


CHAPTER IX 


“ THE REAL THING.” 

Miss Blackiston was not wrong in her conjec- 
tures. Mrs. Merry dew had observed young Mr. 
Gascoigne’s meeting with the schoolmistress, and 
she had also happened to have seen that young gen- 
tleman emerge from Miss Blackiston’s house a few 
hours later. She was a lady of impulsive tempera- 
ment with whom two and two, as a wit once ob- 
served, were apt to make four and a decimal. 

“ Gwendolen,” she cried to her daughter (the 
fiancee of the gay Mr. Harris) , “ we must call upon 
these young women at once. Rex Gascoigne must 
have known them in Australia. He’s just come 
out of Peggy Blackiston’s. She will call on them, 
you see, and if she were to hear that we had shown 
some kindness to the friends of her protege, she 
might also be induced to call on us — and oh I 
what possibilities might lie in that call! Lady 
Armine consults her about the visiting list at Hel- 
stone Towers. Twenty years did I wait for an in- 
vitation to the wretched garden party, and a call 
from Peggy Blackiston might mean so much more, 
and, who knows, before we go to our last long 
home, pa and me might actually dine there.” 

No family could be more respected than were 
the Helstones. Still, it is only fair to Whit- 
76 


THE REAL THING ” 


77 


borough to say that the blind idolatry which char- 
acterised Mrs. Merrydew was by no means typical 
of the community. It was, however, fully shared 
by her daughter, who emitted an ecstatic little 
squeal, and raising her hands to her eyes shut out 
the beatific vision lest haply she would swoon. 
Then, recovering her self-possession, she soon ar- 
rayed herself in glorious attire, and accompanied 
her mother upon this errand of pure beneficence. 

Margaret Francis, on hearing the bell, left the 
children in the care of her sister and hastened 
upstairs. 

“ Oh, Miss Francis, we are delighted to meet 
you ! ” exclaimed Mrs. Merrydew, with her sweet- 
est smile. “We have been intending to call ever 
so long, but we always think it nicer that people 
should get thoroughly settled before they are both- 
ered with callers, though I observed that young 
Mr. Gascoigne did not hesitate to trespass upon 
your privacy this morning. Of course, you knew 
him in the colonies. I know he had innumerable 
letters of introduction from friends in England 
who had relatives settled out there. By the way, 
I suppose you are one of the Westmoreland 
Francises. Sir Humphrey, you know, of Castle 
Carnaby.” 

Despite an effort of self-control, her fat face 
puckered up with curiosity as she put the question 
which, ingenuous enough on the face of it, nay, 
almost complimentary, could not fail to elicit some 
information as to that mysterious father. 

Margaret realised that there was a motive be- 


78 THE SWEETEST SOLACE 

hind the question. Why did people in Whit- 
borough ask questions about her father? No one 
in London had done so. She was glad Jessamine 
was not present. If her face flushed slightly she 
replied with perfect composure, if with slight 
relevance : 

“ No, my father lived at a place called Baroopna, 
in Queensland. This is our old home,” and she 
pointed to the water-colour sketch on the wall. 
“ I made it one hot summer day, and I think it 
fairly like. At least, Mr. Gascoigne recognised it 
to-day. Do you paint or draw. Miss Merrydew? ” 

,For a moment neither mother or daughter were 
able to reply. Was this perfectly natural question 
a deft artifice to turn the conversation, in which 
case, no doubt, Alicia Marston was right, or was 
it based upon a natural and spontaneous desire to 
find a common interest with a girl of her own 
age? After a pause, Gwendolen shook her fuzzy 
head and her mother hastened tO' reply. 

“ My daughter, I regret, is not so accomplished 
as yourself, and if Mr. Gascoigne finds the sketch 
good, you may be sure it is so. For he’s very 
clever and so pleasant; in short, just like the dear 
old Admiral.” 

“ Ah ! you know Admiral Gascoigne,” said Mar- 
garet, glad to find some topic other than her 
father’s origin. 

“ Well, we know the same people, don’t you 
know,” replied Mrs. Meriydew cautiously. “ Of 
course. Admiral Gascoigne is no longer young, and 


“ THE REAL THING ” 79 

does not go out as he once did, but everybody 
adores him.” 

“ Not everybody,” Margaret answered, with a 
little laugh. “ There was a lady calling here the 
other day who certainly did not seem to adore him, 
and proclaimed the fact. A Mrs. Rowly. Do 
you know her? She lives in the Square.” 

“ I’ve met her,” replied Mrs. Merrydew, and 
then cointinued, rapidly: “ Mrs. Rowly’s opinion 
would not be quite unprejudiced. Though most 
kind and good she does not mix in quite the same 
society as the Gascoignes and — well, certain other 
people I could mention. She doesn’t, for instance, 
go to Helstone Towers.” 

“ Does that mean much in Whitborough? ” 

“Much!” cried Mrs. Merrydew, with a little 
bleat of consternation. “ Oh, my dear young 
lady! it means everything. You see, my husband 
is a wine merchant with a county connection. He 
is owed money by the bluest blood. The bad 
debt side of his ledger reads like a chapter of 
Froissart. Above all, he imports his own cham- 
pagne — ‘The Dolcibel Carte d’Or.’ That gives 
him a unique position in the Spirituous hierarchy, 
and we do go to Helstone Towers. I shouldn’t 
let your acquaintance with poor dear Mrs. Rowly 
go any further. She’s not the real thing.” 

“ Isn’t she? ” enquired Margaret sadly, for she 
had liked Mrs. Rowly. 

“ No, indeed, she’s not. But we’ll see that you 
get to know the right people — and I shouldn’t be 


8o THE SWEETEST SOLACE 

at all surprised if Peggy Blackiston called before 
long.” 

“ Mr. Gascoigne did mention a Miss Blackiston, 
who lived in the Square; perhaps you also know 
her.” 

“ My husband knows her, and we both have a 
common friend in Lady Armine Helstone. By the 
way, just mention that we had called on you, and 
tried in our small way to be kind to you. I some- 
times think I should like to know her myself; but 
you know how it is when two people want to know 
one another, but neither likes to make the first 
advance, but now that we have a common friend 
in yourself and — ^ — ” 

“ Ma,” whispered Gwendolen, who had been 
glancing nervously out of the window, “ Miss 
Blackiston is coming down the Square. I do be- 
lieve she’s coming here.” 

Mrs. Merrydew’s ponderous form shook. She 
was perfectly aware of what would happen if Miss 
Blackiston met her before that lady’s prejudices 
were mollifed by the recital of their disinterested 
kindness to the orphans. Like all great strategists, 
she made up her mind on the instant. 

“ Good gracious ! It’s a quarter to four,” she 
cried, looking at the chimney-piece where the clock 
happened not to be. “We must be off at once;. 
Don’t ring pray. Gwendolen, come and don’t 
fiddle with your gloves, you silly girl,” and with- 
out another word the two ladies flew out of the 
room, down the stairs, and into the Square. 


“THE REAL THING” 8i 

When Miss Blackiston was shown in she was 
very pale and was trembling violently. 

“ Oh, how d’ye do, Miss Francis. I hear you’re 
a great friend of Rex Gascoigne. Friend of my 
friend — friend of mine. So I’ll take the liberty 
of friendship and ask you to let me have a cup of 
tea at once. I’ve had a slight shock.” 

She sat down as Margaret rang the bell, and 
then continued, with a vindictive smile: 

“ You have just had callers ? ” 

“ Yes. A Mrs. Merrydew and her daughter. 
It was so kind of her to come. By the way, she 
mentioned your name to me. I think you know 
Mr. Merrydew and I am sure she would like to 
know you herself. You both go to Something 
Towers.” 

“ Helstone Towers. She does go, my dear — 
to the garden parties. I dine. . . .” Miss 

Blackiston paused, and the poor schoolmistress 
pressed her hand to her aching brow, whilst Miss 
Blackiston still trembling with indignation, con- 
tinued : 

“ And she’d like to know me, would she? Miss 
Frances, as I have just said, I regard you as a 
friend of my own, so let me solemnly warn you, 
Mrs. Merrydew is not the real thing.” 

“ Oh ! that’s the very thing she said herself 
about Mrs. Rowly,” cried Margaret in her be- 
wilderment, and then regretted her indiscretion. 

“ Mrs. Merrydew said that. Oh, that’s too 
good ! Why, Mrs. Rowly is her own first cousin I 
Their mothers were sisters, daughters of old Spen- 
6 


82 


THE SWEETEST SOLACE 


ley, the tobacconist. Mrs. Rowly’s husband and 
Mr. Merrydew were partners until a few years ago, 
and that fuzzy-haired, giggling girl was on most 
affectionate terms with poor little Rowly until that 
bumptious clerk from next door appeared on the 
scene. Not the real thing, indeed! It’s Mrs. 
Merrydew herself who is not the real thing.” 

“ Then is there anybody who is the real thing? ” 
asked Margaret in despair. 

“ They are to be found,” replied her visitor, with 
a demure little smile; “ and if you will come and 
see me I’ll introduce you to some. You are far too 
nice looking to be poked away in a corner.” 

“ Thank you very much, but I have very little 
time to go out. But my sister Jessamine is a great 
deal prettier than I am and sings beautifully. 
Do ask her, for I am afraid she is beginning to 
find our life here rather dull. You know. I’m 
ever so much older than she is.” 

The quaint, animated little woman pursed her 
mouth up, and was about to make a facetious re- 
ply, when she read something in the grave, grey 
eyes of Margaret Francis, for she desisted and 
merely said : 

“ You’re a sweet, unselfish girl. Now I should 
like to see the pretty sister.” 

“ I will send her to you. We cannot both of us 
leave the children.” 

Jessamine came into the room with a kindlj 
smile and outstretched hand. A friend of Mr. 
Gascoigne’s was naturally a friend of theirs. 


THE REAL THII^G ” 83 

“ God bless my soul, child, where did you get 
those eyes? ” was the old maid’s first remark. 

“ I’m supposed to be like my father,” replied the 
astonished girl. 

“ He must have been a very handsome man. 
Your sister tells me you sing. I used to sing when 
I was young. Let me see your music.” 

The girl led her to the little piano and brought 
out a rack full of bound volumes. 

“Ah, what have we got here?” said Miss 
Blackiston, as she drew out a battered volume 
stamped on the fly-leaf with the mark of a Sydney 
music dealer. 

It was a collection of German national songs, 
Burschen Lied and others. She returned to the in- 
dex. “Do you know this?” she asked, as she 
opened the place. 

Jessamine took the volume and looked at the 
open page. ^ 

“Oh! ‘ Der Wirthin Tochterlein.’ Indeed, 
yes ! It was a favourite of my father’s.” 

And, mindful of the arrangement with Mr. 
Swannick, she sang in a sweet low voice, with 
scarce any accompaniment, that most beautiful of 
songs. Flow the three students go to the inn of 
Frau Wirthin and cry for beer and wine, and 
that they would fain see her lovely daughter. 
How the mother replies that wine and beer they 
can have, but the lovely daughter is lying on her 
bier. Then, so the song goes, they enter the room 
where the dead maiden is lying on her shroud, 
and the first student lifts up the veil and tells 


84 


THE SWEETEST SOLACE 


them how he would love her were she living. 
Then the second student says that he had loved 
her for many a year. But the third student cries, 
“ I have loved thee ever, yet love thee to-day and 
shall still love thee for ever and ever.” 

As Jesamine finished, she heard Miss Blackis- 
ton sniffling vigorously, and observed to her con- 
sternation that tears were flowing freely from the 
great dark eyes. 

“ Oh I I am SO sorry,” the girl said, piteously. 

“ Don’t you mind a snivelling old woman. I’ve 
heard that song before. Ah, well, I must go now,” 
Miss Blackiston continued, wiping her eyes and 
resuming her ordinary manner, “ and thank you so 
much, child, for having made me so delightfully 
miserable. “ Well, my dears,” said the vivacious 
lady, as she said good-bye, “ I came here to please 
Rex Gascoigne and I shall come again to please 
myself, and before you’ve done with me you’ll 
think me an intolerable nuisance.” 


CHAPTER X 

MISS blackiston’s good offices. 

Peggy Blackiston was as good as her word, and 
she forthwith took the two orphans under her 
sheltering wing. There are in all country towns 
a certain number of quiet folk of gentle birth and 
breeding, the widows and daughters of small 
squires, retired officers, country clergymen, and pro- 
fessional men of the old-fashioned type who form 
a nice little society of their own. It was into this 
little circle that Peggy introduced her protegees. 

Margaret, it is true, had little time or inclination 
for these social distractions. Her duties, though 
trivial in the intellectual sense, were exacting. And 
there was, moreover, a self-imposed task from 
which she was not the woman to shrink. 

The peculiar insistence with which her early vis- 
itors had pressed her as to her parentage, and 
the curious, half-pitying, half-interested manner 
with which, she could not help seeing, certain others 
regarded her, could not fail to excite a profound 
uneasiness. Did these people know something 
about her dear father of which she was herself 
ignorant — or was it merely coincidence that 
women like Mrs. Rowly and Mrs. Merrydew asked 
her questions? Firm in her faith she did not 
shrink from learning what lay behind that veil 

85 


86 


THE SWEETEST SOLACE 


whereof a tiny corner had been lifted in the last 
few moments of a good man’s life. Behind it, 
mayhap, were tears and sorrows and shattered 
hopes and severance and exile, but even if it were 
so, ’twere better she should know. 

She had not much to guide her. Her father, on 
the threshold of the grave, did as men often do, 
namely, called to his mother. What he said 
seemed then trivial enough. He was a child once 
more, and he told his mother that the Admiral’s 
Binnacle was lighted and that old madam would 
soon be following them back in her chair; that he 
wondered how she liked his singing that afternoon, 
for when someone had said that he sang like the 
birds in Barkston Wood, Madam had said — and 
here came a reference to angels, the ‘purport 
whereof Margaret could never fathom — and then 
followed unconsciousness. That was all. But 
illumined by the light of recent knowledge how 
much more had been vouchsafed her than she might 
ever have hoped for. The reference to the Ad- 
miral’s Binnacle and to the old lady’s arrival in 
her chair pointed irresistibly to Gascoigne Square. 
She had not been a week in Whitborough before 
she verified the existence of Barkston Wood, which 
lay two miles out on the Helstone Road. Surely, 
then, it was not unreasonable to assume that if, 
as she had been told, Mrs. Hambledon went every 
Sunday to the Cathedral in her famous chair, that 
it was in St. Werburgh’s Minster that little Henry 
Francis had surpassed the songsters of the woods, 
that, in short, her father had, in his boyhood, sung 


MISS BLACKISTON’S GOOD OFFICES 87 

in the Cathedral choir. This much and no more 
she had to go on. She might have solved the mys- 
tery at once by submitting the whole matter to 
Canon Marston, who had for so many years pre- 
sided over the Cathedral school to which all the 
choir boys have for generations belonged, and by 
asking him to obtain for her access to the school 
roll. But, kind as he was, the Canon was but a 
comparative stranger, and she felt it due to her 
dead father’s memory that she should not reveal 
his secret lightly, nor seek extraneous assistance 
if it could be avoided. Much, however, could be 
done by patient investigation. 

Accordingly she began to spend her spare time 
in the public library, poring over old registers and 
directories in the anxious search. There was cer- 
tainly no one of the name of Francis who had lived 
in the Square within the last fifty years. But then 
a child might have accompanied his mother to the 
house of a friend who did live in the Square and 
seen the lighting of the Admiral’s Binnacle and 
the progress of the yellow sedan-chair. 

The quest was full of difficulty, but Margaret 
was persistent and information often leaks out in 
very unexpected ways. So with quiet perseverance 
she searched the files of local newspapers in the 
hope that, lurking somewhere in the report of a 
concert, a run with the Whitborough Beagles, a 
local cricket match and the like, she might find 
some reference to the little Henry Francis who sang 
sweeter than the nightingales in Barkston Wood. 

Of these researches Jessamine was naturally kept 


88 


THE SWEETEST SOLACE 


in ignorance. Margaret was fond of reading and 
where could books be found except at a public 
library? Jessamine was, moreover, too interested 
in her new life to have much time to think about 
her sister’s pursuits. Very few weeks passed that 
the young girl did not spend at least three after- 
noons with her friend Miss Blackiston, which were 
invariably devoted to music. Now, whether it 
was due to accident or whether it was because he 
was also fond of music, the fact remains that, 
whenever Jessamine called upon Miss Blackiston, 
Rex Gascoigne happened to drop in also. This 
set his hostess thinking, and when she discovered 
that, notwithstanding the intimacy which was ap- 
parently growing up between Rex Gascoigne and 
the two sisters. Admiral Gascoigne had hitherto 
omitted to take the slightest notice of the girls. 
Miss Blackiston took upon herself to appeal to her 
old friend to repair an omission which could not 
but affect their prospects unfavourably. 

“ I’m too old to make new friends,” he replied 
rather curtly, “ and considering the official posi- 
tion one of them holds it would be a good deal 
better if you and Rex made a little less fuss about 
them.” 

“ Considering the official position they hold,” 
retorted Miss Blackiston, “ and that everyone in 
the Square is perfectly aware that Rex stayed 
with their father in Australia, a very considerable 
fuss in the shape of unkind gossip will arise if you 
don’t call. So brush your hat, dear Jack, and 
come with me now.” 


MISS BLACKISTON’S GOOD OFFICES 89 

The old man growled, but recognizing the fair- 
ness of Peggy’s argument, he did brush his hat 
and did follow his friend to No. 19. He saw 
both the sisters, for Margaret received him, and 
after a few minutes, as was her wont, went down- 
stairs to relieve her sister. And then the astute 
Miss Blackiston induced her young friend to sing 
certain sea-going ditties she had learnt from her 
father. 

“ I’m agreeably surprised in these girls,” he said 
as he walked home. “ They’re simple and un- 
affected young gentlewomen, and I have no doubt 
Rex does their father’s memory no more than 
justice. They’ve got a nice manner which they, 
of course, inherited from him. He would have 
the manners of an officer and a gentleman, for it’s 
perfectly clear, whatever his history may have 
been, he once served in the Navy.” 

“Good gracious! Why?” ejaculated the as^ 
tonished lady. 

“No one but a sailor' — or someone who had 
associated a great deal with sailors — could have 
taught the girl to sing those songs with that half- 
mocking plaintiveness. Landsmen sing sea-songs 
with a rollicking abandon. A sailor, never. 
That girl’s father was a sailor.” 

“ That can scarcely be, for she sings the songs 
of German students with their traditional render- 
ings ; and her father, she tells me, taught her these 
also.” 

“ I don’t care,” answered the Admiral dog- 
matically, “if he wasn’t a sailor he was a soldier 


90 


THE SWEETEST SOLACE 


and learned the way to sing a sailor’s song 
aboard a troopship. He never learned it on dry 
land. Well, I like the girls.” 

“ I’m glad you do,” said Peggy gratefully, “ for 
I like them both. I see a good deal of them — 
at least of Jessamine; she takes compassion on 
me and comes to sing to me as often as three days 
a week.” 

“ Rex drops in about three times a week, eh? ” 
enquired the Admiral. 

Peggy nodded. 

“ He likes music too, it appears. Now what 
does Miss Jessamine do on the other days?” 

“ She takes the children down to the Quarry 
Walk, w'here they play games.” 

“ Hum,” grunted the Admiral. “ Rex has 
been coming with me to the club in the afternoons, 
and instead of sitting with his friends in the morn- 
ing-room or having a game of billiards, I have 
noticed on three days of the week he goes out and 
when he reappears to escort me home he looks 
rather hot and is out of breath. Peggy, I should 
be glad if Rex was happily married.” 

“You do not surely mean ” cried the little 

lady, looking involuntarily to the schoolmistress’ 
little house. 

“ I mean,” said the Admiral with an emphasis 
which admitted of no misinterpretation, “ that I 
should like to see my nephew married to a lady 
of recognised social position, brought up in the 
refined influence of an English home, and if she 
happened to have a fortune, so much the better.” 


MISS BLACKISTON’S GOOD OFFICES 91 

“ I know what you mean,” replied Peggy, with 
another wistful glance in the same direction, “ and 
of course, you are right. But who is there here- 
abouts who answers to that description ? ” 

“ Lady Armine Helstone,” replied the Admiral 
decisively. “You needn’t gasp, Peggy. We 
Gascoignes are not of mushroom growth. Rex 
sees something of her, as well as of your piquant 
little friend. Now, Margaret, our friendship is 
not a thing of yesterday, and I can rely upon you 
to give every reasonable assistance to this project, 
which lies very near my heart.” 

“Of course, if you wish it,” replied the little 
lady, as she entered her house with rather a heavy 
heart. 

Now it happened a few days after this conversa- 
tion Miss Blackiston received a note from Lady 
Armine Helstone, asking if she would be at home 
on the following afternoon, in which case the 
writer would call and have a cup of tea and a 
chat. Of course Peggy Blackiston took care to 
be in, and also, it may be added, pursuant to her 
promise to the Admiral, she took no less care that 
Rex Gascoigne should be asked to meet her guest. 

“If there’s anything in what John Gascoigne 
suggests,” thought Peggy, “ I shall see it, though 
Armine Helstone is not a girl to carry her heart 
on her sleeve.” 

Certainly the beautiful woman who called the 
next day did not look a lady who would give her 
confidence lightly. She was very tall and slender 
and carried herself with an ineffable grace. Her 


92 


THE SWEETEST SOLACE 


profile was as faultless as was that of her brother, 
but the face was more oval as befits a woman, 
and the curve of the proud lips was gentler. Her 
eyes, too, were of a darker blue and possessed a 
liquid softness which his, perhaps, lacked. Her 
hair, of which she had an extraordinary profusion, 
was almost black and she wore it drawn simply 
back from her forehead and massed upon the nape 
of her shapely neck, and her face was of an almost 
dazzling pallor, except for two little patches of 
coral pink on either cheek. 

“ Come to the fire, dear, you’re cold,” said 
Peggy Blackiston. “ I expect Rex Gascoigne 
here every minute. He told me of your brother’s 
kindness to him about the seat of Parliament. I 
asked him to come because I think you like the 
lad.” 

“ Like” is a word of infinite interpretations, and 
Peggy purposely avoided investing it with any 
undue emphasis, but she watched the girl’s face 
closely. The little coral patches deepened into a 
soft rose pink for the twentieth part of a second, 
but there was not the slightest tremor in her voice 
as she replied: 

“ Oh yes, I like Rex very much. He and Julian 
are such very old friends. Of course, a public 
career would be of advantage to him.” 

“ A great deal better than wrangling in a stuffy 
court. The Admiral is delighted. If he could 
only see Rex happily married to some girl whom 
he admired and trusted I think John Gascoigne 
would sing his Nunc dimittis with a glad heart.” 


MISS BLACKISTON’S GOOD OFFICES 93 

“ The Admiral will no doubt see the fulfillment 
of his wishes,” replied Lady Armine, resting her 
cheek upon her hand and looking into the fire. 
“ Since my mother died I have lived so much 
among people older than myself that I scarcely 
know what attributes in a man the modern girl 
does like, but I should imagine there are some 
who would like Rex Gascoigne. He’s light- 
hearted, yet purposeful, and I am sure he is good 
and kind and considerate to those about him. So 
I daresay some day soon we shall see that an- 
nouncement in The Morning Post.” 

“ I shall hear of it a good deal sooner than 
that,” replied Peggy. “If Rex has an affaire du 
cooeur he’ll come straight here and tell me. I 
don’t know why, but somehow everyone does tell 
me their stoiries.” 

“ I think I know the reason, Peggy dear,” re- 
plied Armine Helstone, as she slipped her long, 
slender hand into that of her vivacious friend. 
“ My father has often told us how everybody was 
in love with you and how nobody knew why you 
remained single, but I think I can guess why! I 
am sure if I ever cared for somebody I would 
never marry anyone else, though one can scarcely 
blame those who do. To some people, living 
alone must seem a trifle trist.” 

“ But it is not, it is not,” cried Peggy with 
vehemence. “ I admit it takes an exceptional 
woman to make a nice old maid, but like the little 
girl in the nursery rhyme, when they are nice 
they’re very very nice. I hope I’m nice; I cer- 


94 


THE SWEETEST SOLACE 


tainly try to retain my sympathy for the young 
and give them hope and comfort in their love af- 
fairs. I am sure I should be very hurt if you 
had an affaire and didn’t confide in me.” 

“ Oh, I’m a pre-ordained old maid,” she an- 
swered with a sad little laugh. “ I suppose I ap- 
pear rather serious and old for my years ' — and 
I’m so tall. Certainly most young men seem 
rather afraid of me. Oh no. I’m far too awe- 
inspiring an individual to have a love affair.” 

“ So you say, my dear, but one never knows,” 
answered Peggy Blackiston. “ Anyway, I’m 
glad you like Rex Gascoigne.” 

Miss Blackiston uttered this rather inconsequent 
remark very quickly, and the girl was taken by 
surprise. The hand that remained in her old 
friend’s trembled and the coral pink deepened this 
time into a deep flush. At once she looked into 
Margaret Blackiston’s face with an expression of 
downright terror, lest the secret which she would 
scarce admit to her own pure heart had, by her 
momentary loss of self-control, been betrayed, even 
to the friend whom she loved and trusted. 

And Peggy Blackiston was smitten with remorse 
that she had ventured to probe that proud and 
sensitive nature. So, without betraying by even 
so much as a reciprocal pressure of the hand that 
she had observed the girl’s embarrassment, she 
added carelessly, “ Come and see my hyacinths 
before our recusant knight appears.” 

By the time Rex Gascoigne arrived Lady Ar- 
mine’s cheeks had long since resumed their normal 


MISS BLACKISTON’S GOOD OFFICES 95 


colour and she met her old friend with the frank- 
est cordiality, and soon they were chatting to- 
gether upon conventional topics. When her car- 
riage arrived Rex naturally escorted her down- 
stairs, and might even have accompanied her to 
Gascoigne House, whither she was bound, had 
not Miss Blackiston called him back peremptorily. 

“ Of course, I don’t expect any particular at- 
tention myself,” she commenced with some as- 
perity, “ but when I ask you to meet a lady of 
the position, charm and beauty of Lady Armine 
Helstone, you might have the grace to come a 
little earlier.” 

“ I am very sorry, but I had an appointment 
and I couldn’t get away earlier.” 

“ An appointment in the Quarry Walk, eh? ” 

“Well, as an actual fact, it was, though I am 
sure I don’t know why you should have guessed. 
I was helping Jessamine Francis to teach her little 
girls some English games. You know she is a 
Colonial and doesn’t know many.” 

“ I should imagine you had almost forgotten 
those infantile pleasantries — or at least that your 
stock would be exhausted in a single afternoon. 
You were there on Wednesday and on Monday, 
and on the previous Friday.” 

Rex grew rather red and nodded. 

“ And you were here on Tuesday and Thurs- 
day. Now, you must take in good part what I 
have to say. You may not believe it, but once 
in my day I was a very pretty girl myself and 
good men came to woo me.” 


96 THE SWEETEST SOLACE 


“ I know, Uncle Jack has told me. I suppose 
there was some one ” 

“ Hush, Rex! there are some things no woman 
cares to talk about, least of all to a man. But 
take this from me. There is no greater misery 
for a woman than to meet every day a man she 
cares for, to hear his voice ringing through the 
house, to listen for his footsteps on the stairs, 
and then to gradually realise that that which she 
has learned to hold dearer than life cannot be 
hers. Now, Rex, you will understand what I 
mean when I ask you not to go again to the 
Quarry Walk.” 

“ I am not a scoundrel,” he answered, with face 
aflame. 

“ Then, for pity’s sake, prove your words. 
You will not go again?” 

“Well, Peggy, I must go, anyway, once again, 
for tO'day, when we were playing, little Betty 
Detchingham said, ‘ Now, Mr. Gascoigne, we 
know all your games — if you can’t teach us any 
more. Miss Francis won’t want you.’ Jessamine 
began to laugh, which nettled me, so I said at 
once, as by inspiration, ‘ Oh, I’ll teach you a 
splendid game next week.’ ‘What is it? What 
is it ? ’ they all cried. I know not how or why, 
but the reply rose spontaneously to my lips, 
‘ Jinks.’ There is a touch-and-go suggestion 
about the word, isn’t there?” 

“ It’s suggestive of Bank Holiday, and I cer- 
tainly don’t know any game of that name,” replied 


MISS BLACKISTON’S GOOD OFFICES 97 

Peggy, “ and I have been playing with children all 
my life.” 

“ Its origin is wrapped in mystery and its rules 
are not as yet so rigidly formulated as are those 
of cricket, but the children are frantic to learn it, 
and by next week, I have little doubt, I shall have 
the rules at my finger-ends, and after that — ^ — ” 
“The games must cease; especially that game 
in which the stakes are all on one side.” 

7 


CHAPTER XI 


“ PASSING IT ON ” 

Mr. Swannick, as befitted a lone bachelor, lived 
in an unpretentious set of lodgings within easy 
reach of the East Whitshire Club, and here he sat 
one morning after breakfast, smoking a cigar and 
studying a small morocco-bound pocket-book. Its 
perusal, however, gave him scant satisfaction, for 
he closed it with a vicious snap and swore softly. 
In the midst of a fervent malediction the servant 
came in and handed him a card. Swannick 
glanced at it, and the expression of his face (which 
during office hours was so genial) became simply 
diabolical, when he read thereon “ Mr. Andrew 
Trodd, Combe Royale, Finchley Rise.” 

“ Show the gentleman up,” he said dejectedly. 

The man who entered the room was a burly 
fellow, with hard keen eyes and a big jowl. He 
greeted Swannick with a curt nod and failed to ob- 
serve the hand that was extended to him. 

“ You’re up and about early,” said Swannick, 
with a propitiatory smile. 

“ It’s the early bird as gets the worm, Mr. 
Swannick, and be that worm fat or lean, I mean 
to get my beak into him. In short, when do you 
mean to settle up?” Mr. Trodd’s voice rang 
high. 


98 


“ PASSING IT ON ” 


99 


“For Heaven’s sake make less noise. You 
might as well send round the town crier. Can’t 
you see my credit is your safeguard?” 

“ But it ain’t,” replied the bookmaker, for such 
was Mr. Trodd’s profession. “You would have 
otherwise sent me some on account. Look at 
your course of conduct. You lose £700 to me 
at Ascot. You can’t pay, and you implore me to 
give you a bit more rope, and then you go back- 
ing horse after horse. At Doncaster, at New- 
market October and the Houghton it’s the same 
story ^ — £100 this horse — £50 that. Some- 
times you win, more often you don’t I press for 
a settlement, and you promise to pay some on 
account when you get money from your own 
clients. Why haven’t you done so? Or why 
don’t you go to your bankers?” 

Swannick gave a grim smile, and opening a 
drawer silently handed the man his pass-book. 

“Overdrawn, eh? But not so much now as 
you were three months ago. That’s where the 
clients’ cheques have been going — to square that 
overdraft. Well, you must get the money some- 
how.” 

“ I can’t. You must wait.” 

“ I’ve waited long enough, and that’s why I 
came down here last night.” 

“ You’re pressing me hard. I’ve been doing 
business with you for twenty years.” 

“ Exactly. Twenty years, eh? ” replied Trodd, 
with a sinister look in his hard eyes. “ Now I 
can’t help thinking that you could get some of 

LOf Y 


loo THE SWEETEST SOLACE 


it, anyway. You know a solicitor has command 
of a good deal of money, one way and another.” 

Swannick’s hand trembled as he fumbled with 
his lips. The bookmaker continued: 

“You may remember, years ago, soon after we 
began to have dealings, there was a trifling tem- 
porary difficulty about a small cheque you sent me. 
But it was arranged quite comfortably in the long 
run. You have no partners now, and so you have 
command of all the money in your office. Solici- 
tors have great opportunities. . . .” 

“ I can’t get money, except in the ordinary 
way,” replied Swannick sullenly, “ and, what’s 
more, I won’t.” 

“Won’t you?” cried Trodd; “then I’ll sue 
you in the High Court.” 

“ What! And throw good money after bad? ” 
retorted Swannick. “ I’ll plead the Gaming Act.” 

“ The Gaming Act 1 Ha 1 ha 1 What about 
your clubs, eh? Besides, you know perfectly well 
it would mean your professional ruin. There’s 
not a man of honour among your clients but would 
remove his papers from a solicitor with both bets 
and bilks. Another month, friend Swannick, and 
if I don’t get that £1,700 I shall slap out a writ. 
One month, mind, and you can plead what you 
damn please.” 

And with this threat he turned on his heel and 
left the room. 

Swannick sank back in his chair and pressed 
his hand wearily to his forehead. For six long 
months he had carried that genial smile every day, 


“PASSING IT ON” 10 1 

from ten to seven, and the strain was becoming 
insupportable. 

Certainly he had not succeeded in resuming it 
when he entered the office twenty minutes later. 
Mr. Harris was standing by the writing-table ar- 
ranging the letters in parallel lines. The clerk’s 
habitual smirk irritated him. 

“ Thank you, Mr. Harris,” he said. “ You 
need not trouble. I can arrange my letters my- 
self.” 

The managing clerk looked up in blank amaze- 
ment. This abrupt greeting was quite unprece- 
dented. Possibly his ears had deceived him. So 
he replied with his usual jauntiness: “As you 
had two days’ correspondence waiting for you I 
thought it would be a convenience to have them 
separated. I hope you had a good day’s racing 
at Lingfield yesterday.” 

Mr. Swannick grunted, and the clerk continued : 
“ By the way, talking of racing, I saw your friend 
Sandy Trodd this morning coming out of the 
‘ Imperial.’ ” 

“ My friend Trodd, what the devil do you 
mean, sir?” asked Swannick fiercely. 

“ Oh, nothing,” replied the astonished Harris. 
“ I called him your friend because I saw you bet 
with him in Tattersall’s Ring last year at Lei- 
cester. No money passed, so I assumed your re- 
lations were of some standing.” 

“ It strikes me you assume a good deal, and 
what, may I ask, were you doing at Leicester 
races? ” 


102 


THE SWEETEST SOLACE 


“ It was during my annual holiday; I suppose I 
can do as I like then?” 

“ Oh, certainly,” replied Swannick. “ Did you 
bet with Mr. Trodd?” 

“ I handed him half a sovereign over the rails. 
It was during my holiday,” Harris added, with a 
sneer. 

“ You had better restrict your racing to your 
holidays. I don’t approve of clerks betting.” 

“May I enquire why?” asked Harris, whose 
temper, none of the best, was rising. 

“ Because it leads to irregularities,” replied 
Swannick. 

“ You forget, sir,^’ said Harris, looking towards 
the safe, “ you have command of all the money 
in the office.” 

“Eh? What?” cried the enraged solicitor, as 
the clerk unwittingly repeated the very formula 
which half-an-hour before had set all his nerves 
a-tingling. He recovered himself with an effort, 
and said, with an attempt at a laugh, “ I have 
myself to blame, Harris. I have set you a bad 
example. Take my word for it, the less a smart 
young fellow like yourself has to do with Sandy 
Trodd and his fellows, the better it will be for the 
charming young lady whom I hope soon to wel- 
come as Mrs. Harris, and now I think we had 
better get to work.” 

Mr. Harris, so far from being mollified by this 
belated pleasantry, left the room in a state of 
seething exasperation. At the interval for lunch 
he betook himself to the Merrydews, and poured 


“PASSING IT ON” 103 

out his wrongs to the sympathetic ears of the two 
ladies. 

“Let Swannick be careful!” he cried fiercely 
to Gwendolen, as they sauntered after lunch across 
to the railings of the little garden. “ I’ll start on 
my own hook and break with him as he broke 
with that square-toed Sefton. The fact is, Swan- 
nick lacks breeding. He hasn’t got the manner 
for the county nobs. Now I flatter myself that’s 
just what I have got. When I go to the club 
billiard-room half the country gentlemen get up 
and make way for me. There’s silent homage 
for you. Yes, I know what men think of me, and 
by Jove!” he continued, stroking his long mous- 
tache, “ I know what women think of Albert Har- 
ris, too. I don’t think you realize ” He 

stopped and suddenly raised his hat to a lady who 
was passing some little distance away. 

It was Margaret Francis hastening home. She 
acknowledged the salutation with the faintest bow. 
But Albert Harris was not versed in the subtle 
gradations of recognition. He looked for a mo- 
ment at the clear-cut profile, the indefinable air of 
distinction, and a slight expression of annoyance 
crossed his face when his eyes fell again upon the 
tousled fringe that almost touched his fiancee’s 
nose. 

“ I wish you would do your hair in a more rea- 
sonable way,” he exclaimed pettishly, “ instead of 
wearing that absurd bird’s-nest.” 

“You didn’t think it an absurd bird’s-nest at 


104 the sweetest SOLACE 

the Sprott’s Cinderella,” cried the surprised and 
indignant girl. 

Harris ground his teeth, and anathematised the 
Sprott’s Cinderella; that being the social function 
at which the clerk, inspired by the “ Dolcibel 
Caste D’Or ” had declared himself. He con- 
trolled the retort that rose to his lips and replied 
with a fine tolerance. 

‘‘ Come, come, Gwen, I didn’t mean any harm, 
but if you have a good forehead why not show 
it? You weren’t vaccinated on it. Now why 
don’t you wear your hair — well, like Miss Fran- 
cis wears hers?” 

“ I will, if it only pleases you, dear,” replied 
the girl, trying to keep back her rising tears, for 
at that moment there came out of a house in the 
Square the one person in the world from whom 
she would fain conceal her distress — to wit. Bob 
Rowly. Harris, seeing her eyes directed towards 
someone over his own shoulder, turned quickly, 
and saw the delinquent approaching jauntily. 

“ Hulloh, Rowly,” shouted the managing clerk. 
“Why weren’t you at the office this morning?” 

“What’s that to do with you?” replied Bob. 
“ I am responsible to Mr. Swannick, who took 
my premium, and to my father, who paid it, and 
to no one else.” 

“ Oh yes, you are. I have to teach you con- 
veyancing, and it takes a double shift to get the 
precedents into your thick skull, so I like you to 
come early.” 

“ Oh, don’t, Albert,” murmurmed Gwendolen 


“ PASSING IT ON ” 


105 

softly; “think of your own great position — a 
member of the East Whitshire and all — and 
spare him.’’ 

But the irritated Harris was not in a mood for 
clemency, so he added: “ I can’t afford to waste 
time on such a chuckle head as you.” 

Bob Rowly flushed to the roots of his hair. He 
clenched his teeth and looked savagely at his ad- 
versary, who towered above him. Then he saw 
the look of piteous supplication upon the face of 
Gwendolen Merrydew, and he merely replied, “ I 
shall consider myself at your beck and call when 
you cease to be a salaried servant and become a 
partner,” and with this Parthian shot he went 
across the Square. 

“ Salaried servant, indeed,” cried Harris. “ In- 
solent young cub ! ” 

“ You began it, and I really think it very un- 
kind of you to say such things to poor Bob, and 
before me, too.” 

“Why before you, I should like to know?” 
enquired the clerk. 

“ We’ve known each other so long and ” — she 
added, with a little simper — “ before you 
came ” 

“ Oh, I know,” sneered Harris. “ Miss Mer- 
rydew has had her conquests, and Bert Harris is 
not the only man in the world; but if it comes to 
that, you might occasionally remind yourself that 
you are not the only girl, either,” and with a 
defiant curl of the moustache he proceeded to 
Mr. Swannick’s office, feeling all the better for 


io6 THE SWEETEST SOLACE 


having made two inoffensive people thoroughly 
uncomfortable. 

For, in truth, poor Gwendolen Merrydew felt 
utterly miserable. The insult to Bob Rowly had 
pained her even more than the sarcasms her lover 
had directed at herself, and quite as much as the 
veiled threat of inconstancy; for, of course, after 
the allusion to the particular coiffure that found 
favour in her lover’s eyes, there was no doubt as 
to the identity of the superior attraction. And 
with streaming eyes she entered the little garden 
in the Square, for it was a mild afternoon, and 
the birds were singing in the trees. 

She sat down on the bench, and in the privacy 
of the bushes gave vent to her grief. Suddenly 
she felt a hand upon her shoulder and a kind 
voice saying: 

“ Oh, Miss Merrydew, you musn’t think I wish 
to intrude, but I cannot bear to see you unhappy ! ” 

Gwendolen sprang to her feet and saw before 
her the tall graceful figure of Margaret Francis. 
She dabbed her eyes with a dank pocket-handker- 
chief and sniffed defiantly. 

“ Thank you. Miss Francis. I don’t want sym- 
pathy, least of all yours.” Then she sobbed 
again, and being a young lady who had not been 
schooled to control her emotions, she continued: 
“ A pretty thing, your talking of not wishing to 
intrude. Why did you come between me and my 
Albert?” 

“Your Albert!” repeated the astonished 
school-mistress, “ Do you mean the gentleman 


“ PASSING IT ON 


to whom you are engaged? Why, I have only 
spoken to him once in my life! He was sent 
by his employer to tell us not to make too much 
noise on the piano.” 

“ He smiled at you as you passed,” whimpered 
Gwendolen, “ just as he used once to smile at 
me. 

“ The smile was lost upon me,” answered Mar- 
garet, with a laugh. 

“ Then he said you did your hair in a nicer way 
than I did mine,” persisted Gwendolen. 

“ Oh, did he? Well, you come in any evening, 
and I’ll show you how to dress yours in the very 
same way. So if that’s all that troubles you, dry 
your eyes and believe that I wish to be really and 
truly your friend.” 

The schoolmistress’s voice was so kind and gen- 
tle and the sincerity of her words so unmistakable, 
the poor girl took the proffered hand. But she 
was not wholly comforted, for she continued, with 
another little sob: 

“ But that is not all that troubles me. Albert 
spoke very unkindly to Mr. Robert Rowly in my 
presence, and I ought to have stuck up for Bob, 
but I hadn’t the courage to, and he’ll think I agree 
with Bert and — and — but, of course, you would 
not understand.” 

“ Oh, I think I do,” replied Margaret de- 
murely; “and — you were going to say some- 
thing.” 

“ And I shall never have an opportunity of 
meeting him,. We don’t call on anyone who 


io8 THE SWEETEST SOLACE 


doesn’t go to the garden parties at Helstone Tow- 
ers. Dear little Bob ! Oh, oh I ” 

“ I think I can manage to give you that oppor- 
tunity. You see, your kind mother made an ex- 
ception in my favour. I will ask Mrs. Rowly to 
bring her son to tea some day before long, and 
I’ll let you know quietly, and you can drop in, 
as it were, by accident. Then, if I can distract 
Mrs. Rowly’s attention for a few minutes, you 
will get your chance of speaking to Mr. Robert.” 

“ Oh,” cried the girl, “ how kind and consid- 
erate you are! I never believed a word of what 
people in the Square said of you. I am sure you 
are a lady in disguise.” 

“ A lady cannot be disguised,” answered Mar- 
garet sadly, “ and I am only a poor schoolmistress, 
about whom her neighbours seem to talk with 
more freedom than charity.” 


CHAPTER XII 


IN THE QUARRY WALK 

The Quarry Walk lay on the outskirts of the 
city between a high scarp of red-stone and the 
bank of the river Strey. Here prescient burgesses 
planted two long rows of lime-trees, which in the 
march of centuries became a very noble avenue. 

Thither on a bright afternoon Rex Gascoigne 
bent his steps, with two big boxes of chocolates 
in his pocket, the authentic rules of “ Jinks ” in 
his brain, and in his heart a curious feeling of ex- 
pectancy and gloom. 

Under one of the lime-trees stood Jessamine 
Francis, her slender, sensitive face aglow with fun 
and anticipation, and round her were grouped ten 
little girls, all of whom were equally agog to be 
initiated into the cryptic game of “ Jinks.” 

As soon as Rex Gascoigne appeared he was sur- 
rounded by his little playfellows, and the air grew 
vibrant with infantile cries, “ Oh, here’s Mr. Gas- 
coigne ! He’s come to teach us ‘ Jinks.’ ” “ Do 

teach us ‘ Jinks.’ ” “ Is there a prize? ” 

“ They seem to be rather interested,” said Rex, 
as he shook Jessamine’s hand. “ Have you men- 
tioned the new game to your sister?” enquired 
Rex nervously. 

“ Certainly not. I thought I had better wait 
109 


no THE SWEETEST SOLACE 

until I had seen it. For, of course, if I don’t ap- 
prove of it, they shan’t play it any more. I’m 
responsible for the games’ department.” 

“ You talk like a saleswoman at Harrod’s 
Stores,” Rex replied. “ Well, perhaps you had 
better not bother Margaret about it, although it’s 
a splendid game. Now, come along, children, 
and I’ll teach you the rules.” 

“ First of all, yo-u pick up sides. Betty Detch- 
ingham can be captain of one side and Dora Sea- 
grave the captain of the other.” 

There was a general fluttering, a chorus of per- 
suasion, exhortation, pleadings and refusals, until 
at last the two little maids were divided into rival 
cohorts. 

“ Now,” continued Rex, speaking rather more 
rapidly than was his wont, and carefully avoiding 
Jessamine’s face, “ Now, five of you go to that 
big tree right over there, and the other five of you 
go to the tree just opposite. Well, Miss Francis 
and I think of a word, which we tell you, and 
your captain has to think of another word which 
exactly rhymes to it; as, for instance, supposing 
we took the word ‘ rose,’ you might thing of 
‘ grows ’ and ‘ blows,’ and- — and — so on. 
Then, when the captain has fixed upon her rhyme, 
she runs here as fast as ever she can and tells us, 
and if she’s right, one of the other side has to 
go across to her tree as a captive; but if she’s 
wrong, she has to go across as a captive herself 
' — and the other side have their turn. Of course, 
we change the word as soon as it is guessed, 


IN THE QUARRY WALK 


III 


and the game is over when one side has been cap- 
tured by the other.” 

“ But supposing none of us can guess the 
word?” asked Betty Detchingham. 

“Oh I I’ll see to that,” replied Rex, with con- 
fidence. 

“ But please, Mr. Gascoigne, how can you see 
to it if you and Miss Francis have already chosen 
a word? ” 

“ I shall choose such an easy word that one or 
other of you is sure to guess it,” replied Rex. 
“ Besides, we can stop the game when we think 
it’s time to go home, and the side which has 
guessed most, wins. Now, Miss Francis, what 
shall we say for the first word? ” 

“ Oh, anything,” answered Jessamine, who 
wished to get to business. “ Let us take ‘ Jinks ’ 
itself.” 

“ The very word. Now off with you all.” 

There was a scuttle of little black legs up the 
broad walk, and some fifty yards away the rival 
companies separated to their respective trees. 

“Capital game, isn’t it?” asked Rex tenta- 
tively. 

“ I haven’t seen it played yet,” replied his com- 
panion. “ Of course, if it wasn’t a real game, I 
should say the object was to send the children as 
far away as possible and keep them there.” 

“ Well,” said Rex, drawing closer to the girl, 
“and suppose ” He paused. 

“ Suppose what?” asked Jessamine, looking up 
at him. 


112 


THE SWEETEST SOLACE 


Peggy’s warning rang in his ears, and he con- 
tinued lamely: “Supposing that — that one of 
the objects of the game is to send them a long 
way off. Naturally, the farther away they go the 
longer distance they have to run, and the more 
exercise they get; and that, of course, is the ob- 
ject of the game.” 

“ Is it? So far, it does not seem to me to be a 
very invigorating game. Ah, here comes Betty. 
By the way, Mr. Gascoigne, what’s the word that 
rhymes? ” 

“The word? Yes, let me think a moment. 
What a pace the child runs I ” 

“ ‘ Thinks,’ ” cried the panting child, who as 
top girl of the school had bethought her of an 
improving sort of word. 

“ Nothing of the sort. Captive ! ” said Rex, 
to the disconcerted little lady. She slowly wended 
her way back to her opponents’ tree. 

“ What was the word? ” enquired Jessamine. 

“ It wasn’t that, anyway,” answered her com- 
panion. “ Poor little girl, how pretty she looked 
running with her hair streaming out in the wind. 
That’s exactly how you used to look when we used 
to play together at Baroopna.” 

“You shouldn’t say that I looked pretty, Mr. 
Gascoigne,” Jessamine replied, with great dig- 
nity. 

“ I didn’t say so. I said your hair looked like 
Betty’s when it streamed out behind. But you 
did look pretty, all the same, Jessy.” 


IN THE QUARRY WALK 


113 

“ And you shouldn’t call me Jessy, either. It’s 
not right. You never do before the girls.” 

“ That’s because of your official position. I 
always called you Jessy at Baroopna.” 

“ You did so at Baroopna because I was a child 
and my hair streamed out; but now it is up,” 
she replied, putting up her hand to the coil of 
golden brown hair that rested upon her pretty 
neck, “ and so I am a woman — a young woman.” 

“ I see, I must respect that womanhood. Hul- 
loh, here’s Dora Seagrave! Why, she runs faster 
than Betty, and she’s more hair, and she reminds 
me even more of you at Baroopna.” 

“ Really,” answered Jessamine, with a sniff. 
“ She’s the plainest girl in the school.” 

“ Minx,” panted the little girl. 

“Oh no! I am afraid that’s not quite the 
word,” cried Rex. 

“ It’s not a very nice word, either,” remarked 
Jessy, as Dora retired to her rivals’ tree. “ I 
can’t conceive why the child thought of it.” 

“ An autobiographical fragment. The modern 
craze for introspection. Jessamine.” 

“ Ah, that sounds much more respectful.” 

“Perhaps it does,” he replied softly; “but to 
me the dear little name of Jessy will always 
mean — ^ — ” 

He stopped, and what the dear little name 
meant to the speaker Jessamine Francis was not 
destined to hear, for at that moment, between two 
trees some twenty yards away from them, emerged 
Lord St reyb ridge. 

8 


1 14 THE SWEETEST SOLACE 

He walked towards them down the centre of 
the avenue, and looked towards the tree beneath 
which Rex and his companion stood. For one 
brief moment Rex resolved to step forth and ex- 
plain his presence in the Quarry Walk at three 
in the afternoon. But that moment passed, for 
he fancied (quite erroneously) that he saw upon 
his friend’s face an expression of supercilious pity. 
He remembered Peggy’s contemptuous comment 
upon his incursion into these infantile revels, and 
the conviction assailed him with awful intensity 
that he was looking utterly and supremely ridic- 
ulous, and certainly he did not wish to make 
apologetic explanations in the presence of Jessa- 
mine Francis. So he gave a half-nod to Lord 
Streybridge when he passed them. The young 
peer paused the fractional part of a second, raised 
his hat and passed on without a word. 

“Who is he?” whispered Jessamine. 

Rex made no answer, but commenced to wave 
his hand towards the two distant groups, and she 
continued with a nervous little laugh: 

“ How glum he looks ! ” 

“ Never mind how he looks,” exclaimed Rex. 
“Has he gone on, or is he stopping? You can 
see. I don’t want toi turn round to look at him.” 

“ He has stopped thirty yards or so away, and 
he’s watching us — the game, I mean.” 

“ A nice sort of game he’ll think it. Oh, why 
don’t those children come? Hi! Betty, send your 
next! ” and Rex’s voice rang through the trees. 
“Thank goodness! here’s Effie Troughton.” 


IN THE QUARRY WALK 


115 

“ Winks,” cried the little girl, as she flew up 
to them. 

“ The very word,” cried Rex, in a fever to get 
the girls back again, while Lord Streybridge still 
stood sentinel. 

“ Mr. Gascoigne, this is intolerable. What 
would Margaret say? Do think of some really 
improving word,” said Jessamine imploringly. 

“We can’t bother about improvement. These 
girls take such an inordinate time to find any word. 
We had better stop the game and allot the prize. 
I think Betty might as well win — eh ? ” 

“ Might as well win,” repeated Jessamine. 
“ What an extraordinary thing to say ! Surely 
you know the rules? Really, if I wasn’t sure that 
you would be incapable of such deception upon 
these dear children, I should say you had simply 
invented the game yourself.” 

“Hi! children, come back!” cried Rex, ignor- 
ing the last remark, “ the game’s over.” 

Rex waved the chocolate boxes on high. Betty 
was given her choice, and though Dora was fain 
to believe that the decision was not unaffected by 
favouritism, she and her followers soon found 
solace in the general munching. 

“Has he gone?” asked Rex softly, without 
looking round. 

“Yes, he has gone, and I hope he’s feeling a 
little more cheerful. Now tell me who the moody 
young man is.” 

“ He is Lord Streybridge,” answered Rex 
gloomily. 


ii6 THE SWEETEST SOLACE 

Jessamine’s eyes opened. “ So that’s Lord 
Streybridge. You know he’s Chairman of Mar- 
garet’s Committee. I wonder if he’s particular 
about games. I should say from his face he 
didn’t appreciate the merits of ‘ Jinks.’ Cer- 
tainly, from a casual superficial glance, he might 
have supposed that we had sent off the children 
right away, because we had something to say to 
one another.” 

“ I had something to say to you,” cried Rex 
desperately. “ I was just beginning to say it when 
Lord Streybridge appeared from behind that 
tree.” 

“ I am afraid you won’t have another oppor- 
tunity, for there must be no more ‘ Jinks.’ So if 
you have anything to say you had better say it 
now.” 

“ Please, Miss Francis, can I take your hand? ” 
asked a very little girl, with a precociously intelli- 
gent face and a furtive look in her little eyes, who 
ran back from the little crowd that was now form- 
ing into line. 

“ Certainly, Minnie, if you wish,” answered 
Jessamine Francis, without effusion. “Yes, Mr. 
Gascoigne? ” 

“ I can’t say it now,” he replied petulantly. 
“ Little pitchers have long ears.” 

Jessamine looked up at him curiously. What 
could he want tO' say that he didn’t want Minnie 
Fetch to hear. 

“ That’s unfortunate, for the next time we play 


IN THE QUARRY WALK 


117 

games in Quarry Walk they must be ordinary 
games in which we can all join together.” 

“ I am not going to play any more games in the 
Quarry Walk,” said Rex gravely. 

“ There,” said Jessamine triumphantly, “ I felt 
sure you were afraid of Lord Streyb ridge.” 

“ I am not afraid of him or anybody else. But 
I’ve taught the children all the games I know. 
By the way, have you ever thought what a charm- 
ing sketch the Priors Tower would make from the 
Cathedral cloisters about four in the afternoon — 
on a Wednesday, for instance?” said Rex, with 
apparent irrelevance. 

“ Run away, Minnie, your hands are like ice. 
Oh, Mr. Gascoigne, how could you forget your- 
self before that child? The sharpest little monkey 
in the school. You are practically asking me to 
meet you alone in the cloisters.” 

“ Oh, I didn’t mean that, exactly — I only 
thought I might possibly come across you — ac- 
cidentally, as it were. Wednesday is the day my 
uncle goes to the meeting of the New Artizans’ 
Dwellings Committee, of which Lord Streybridge 
is Chairman. Thfe sittings commence next 
Wednesday,” he added softly. 

“ I shouldn’t think of going next Wednes- 
day,” replied Jessamine demurely. 

“ I am very persevering,” answered Rex, with 
a laugh, “ and committees are dilatory.” 

“ I shouldn’t come any Wednesday,” said Jes- 
samine. 

“ It’s a charming subject for a sketch,” he ob- 
served once again. 


CHAPTER XIII 

BOB ROWLY’s opportunity 

Margaret could not help noticing that Jessamine 
seemed unusually elated on her return from the 
Quarry Walk, and if she herself was low-spirited, 
as her investigations regarding her father’s con- 
nection with Whitborough continued to be with- 
out result, she could still feel joy and satisfaction 
at her sister’s apparent happiness in her new life. 
Good fortune, like ill fortune, has a tendency to 
repeat itself, and it was, therefore, only natural 
when she came down to breakfast the next morn- 
ing that she should find on her plate a letter, 
which she had long been expecting. As she 
opened it a cheque fell out, the magnitude of 
which made her emit an ejaculation of surprise. 
Jessamine entered the room at the moment and the 
two sisters read it together. It was dated from 
the Southern Cross Hotel, Sydney, and ran as fol- 
lows : 

“ My Dere Margret, — 

“ You will see from the inclosure that at 
larst things is definitely setled up. Baroopna has 
been sold, and the stock and the profits of the 
time I have looked after it have been included, 
and after deducting all the debts which your dere 
Ii8 


BOB ROWLY’S OPPORTUNITY 119 

father was lierble to the Insurance Cos. — a pritty 
peny truly, their is a small balance of £1,703, 
which I send you by open cheque drawn on my 
bank in Sydney, and which will be met by their 
London Agents, Snewing & Co., Ludgate Hill. 
So I hope you will think my plann of borrowing 
money on the station for the pressing debts, and 
then nursing it until the famine was over and 
things recurvered was a wise one. Now my ad- 
vise to you is to find a safe and respectable bank 
in Whitborough where they give a good interest, 
and leave it there on deposit at once, without de- 
lay, for open cheques is dangerous things to have 
about one, until I arrive, and then I will ascertane 
about a real fine investment I’ve got the option 
of, for mark my words, copper’s the thing in the 
future. For, my dere children, you will be glad 
to here that I am starting in a week’s time to 
the old country, and the furst place I shall come 
to after London will be — where do you think? 
Well, it begins with a W, so you can guess. I 
shall not trubble you for a bed, for my ways and 
hours are not seemly for young ladies — but I 
shall find a comfortable hotel and come round 
and smoake my pipe of an evening — if smoaking 
isn’t against rules — whilst Jessy sings me the 
songs her father loved. 

“ So good-bye for the present, 

“ Ever your effect., 

“ Benjn. Cox. 

“ P.S. — You will see that in the statement there 
is no entry of such small advances as I made to 


120 THE SWEETEST SOLACE 

you. The fact is, I always intended you children 
should have all I have, so it makes no difference 
now or later, and your educashion you must re- 
gard as a return — a poor one — for all I owe 
to your father. Don’t keep that cheque lying 
about a single day. I should not be sending it 
if I was not uncertain if I can get away at once. 
I hope Jessamine has not forgot her rough old 
friend.” 

As Margaret laid the letter down a great scald- 
ing tear fell upon it, and looking up she saw 
Jessy’s eyes were streaming. Nor, indeed, were 
her own eyes dry. 

“ Oh, Maggie, as though I could ever forget 
him! ” cried Jessamine, with a sob. 

“ Come, come, don’t cry, dear. Remember 
how fortunate we are. Why, we are quite rich 
now.” 

The sum in question certainly seemed an enor- 
mous fortune to a poor girl whose emoluments 
had hitherto been so attenuated that she had never 
troubled about opening a bank account. Indeed, 
she knew very little about the mysterious of bank- 
ing, but it was clear from Mr. Cox’s injunctions 
that there was a certain element of risk in the 
retention of an open cheque, and that it behoved 
her to follow out his instructions without delay. 

To Canon Marston — the one gentleman of 
age and experience in Whitborough whom she 
knew personally — she did not like to apply. It 
was impossible to call there without encountering 


BOB ROWLY’S OPPORTUNITY 12 1 


his sister, whose rudeness and hostility only in- 
creased with time, so she resolved to seek the 
assistance of Miss Blackiston. 

Placing the cheque in her purse she went out into 
the Square, but feeling happy in her unexpected 
good fortune, there came over her an overwhelm- 
ing desire to share that happiness with others. At 
once she remembered her promise to poor little 
Gwendolen Merrydew. She resolved, therefore, 
to call at Mrs. Rowly’s and ask her personally to 
come to tea, and if haply Mr. Robert could be 
induced to accompany his mother, she could leave 
a message for the remorseful Gwendolen. 

Mrs. Rowly happened to be upstairs, and the 
maid having explained that there was no fire in 
the drawing-room ushered Margaret into a sort of 
study which was separated from the dining-room 
by folding doors. To' her consternation she over- 
heard the voice of a young man crying: 

“ But, my dear father, can’t you see the posi- 
tion? Here’s a good business waiting for me. 
Oh! the Law. Tell me,” he cried excitedly, 
“ have you ever heard tell of a particular ass 
named Shelley?” 

“Ah! yes,” replied a deep voice. “A poet 
fellow — drowned at sea, if I remember rightly. 
Identified by something he was reading — a peri- 
odical, no doubt, with an insurance coupon at- 
tached.” 

“ My man didn’t die at sea, worse luck,” re^ 
plied the other, “ but in bed, and took his time 
over it and left the most muddling will ever 


122 


THE SWEETEST SOLACE 


known, which gave rise to what is known as 
‘ Shelley’s case.’ Oh, father, I wish I had him 
here.” 

From the tone of his voice young Mr. Rowly 
seemed to think that the celebrated testator had 
bequeathed his property in ambiguous terms, with 
a special view to “ posers ” in law examinations, 
and his indignation seemed so poignant that Mar- 
garet was relieved when Mrs. Rowly entered. 

“ You’re a dear kind girl,” said Mrs. Rowly, 
“ and it is especially kind of you to ask Robert, 
whom I shall bring — if it’s only to keep him out 
of mischief. Since Gwendolen Merrydew’s taken 
to that Harris poor Robert has found comfort 
in listening to Mr. Foden every afternoon at the 
Imperial Hotel. He’s a builder who used to 
work for the old lord, but whose bricks proved 
too variously ventilated for Lord Streybridge’s 
present agent, and so he ceased to be employed; 
and, in consequence, he says the most awful things 
of Lord Streybridge, and Robert has taken to 
imitating him, and I live in terror, lest, given 
the opportunity, he may some day say something 
not quite nice about his lordship in public.” 

Having obtained this assurance, Margaret left 
a little note in pencil for Gwendolen Merrydew, 
and proceeded thence to Miss Blackiston’s. 

That vivacious little lady was loud in her con- 
gratulations. “ You must pay in this open cheque 
at once. Come along, I will take you to my 
own banker.” 

‘‘ I can’t come now,” answered Margaret, “ the 


BOB ROWLY’S OPPORTUNITY 123 

children are waiting for a lesson. Besides, I 
ought to find out which bank gives the most in- 
terest.” 

“You leave it to me,” said Peggy. “ You en- 
dorse it on the back, so that the managers will see 
that it is ready for deposit, and I’ll go the round. 
All the managers know me, and they’ll treat me 
more liberally than a stranger. Come, sign your 
name, and I’ll come back this morning and let 
you know where I’ve placed it, and then you can 
go to-morrow, see the manager, and get a pass- 
book. In the meantime, you can sleep with the 
assurance that if your house is burgled the cheque 
will be quite safe.” 

The morning passed, and Miss Blackiston did 
not appear. Noon came — without result, and 
about four o’clock in the afternoon Mrs. Rowly 
called, and still Miss Blackiston had not arrived. 

“ My son Robert,” said Mrs. Rowly, intro- 
ducing the young iconoclast. “ He’s being edu- 
cated for a Solicitor next door.” Margaret 
thought she detected a faint moan of anguish, but 
the young man overcame his emotion and shook 
hands warmly with his hostess. 

He was below the middle height, his nose was 
turned up, and his hair possessed what his mother 
euphemistically called a tendency to the auburn, 
but he had the most honest, pleasant little face 
conceivable; and when Margaret bethought her 
that Gwendolen Merrydew had preferred the su- 
percilious young man from next door, she almost 
doubted the sincerity of that young lady’s remorse, 


124 the sweetest solace 

Wherein she did the poor girl an injustice, for tea 
had scarcely been brought in when Miss Merry- 
dew arrived, and Margaret had little difficulty in 
seeing that her penitential visit was no slight 
ordeal. 

“ How do you do. Miss Francis? and how do 
you do. Cousin Jane? ” she added to Mrs. Rowly, 
who looked down her nose in silence. She did 
not, however, refuse the proffered hand. “ And 
how do you do. Bob? ” continued the embarrassed 
girl. 

“ My son Robert is as well as can be expected 
under the circumstances. Hem ! ’’ Mrs. Rowly 
coughed significantly, and Boh, seeing tears rising 
in the eyes of the girl he still loved, added cheer- 
fully : 

“Oh, I’m as right as ninepence, Gwen! and 
how have you been getting on since last we met? ” 

“ Since last we met,” murmured Gwendolen in 
rather a sepulchral voice, and looked towards her 
hostess. 

“ I daresay you would like to see my sister in 
the schoolroom, Mrs. Rowly,” suggested Mar- 
garet instantly. 

The fond mother hesitated for a moment, then 
detecting an appealing glance in her son’s eye, she 
followed Margaret. “ You are a good, kind girl. 
You are indeed,” she remarked, as the door 
closed. 

It may be presumed that poor Gwendolen re- 
ceived forgiveness for what she conceived to be 
her perfidy, for when they returned she was talk- 


BOB ROWLY’S OPPORTUNITY 125 

ing quite unaffectedly with her old admirer; indeed 
there is no knowing to what length the reconcilia- 
tion might have gone had there not been a 
sudden ring at the bell, and Miss Blackiston came 
dashing up the stairs. She sprang into the room 
with triumph in her eyes, but reassumed the cir- 
cumspect demeanour of a Blackiston, of Crook 
Hill, so soon as she perceived that there were 
visitors, one of whom she had already warned Mar- 
garet was very far from being “ the real thing.” 
Upon one thing, however, she congratulated her- 
self: the mother of the girl with the fuzzy head 
had not accompanied her daughter. Miss Black- 
iston greeted Mrs. Rowly with a pleasant smile, 
for no one could regard that simple, homely face 
otherwise than with kindness. On Miss Merry- 
dew she bestowed a frigid little bow. 

“ Give me some tea, Margaret. IVe had noth- 
ing since I saw you but a jam puff at the Cafe. 
But oh, my dear! ” 

Peggy’s eyes dilated with triumph, and she sud- 
denly flashed four fingers into her young friend’s 
face, somewhat after the manner of an Italian 
playing morra. Miss Blackiston meant no more 
than to imply that she got four per cent, for 
the money, but to Mrs. Rowly the gesture sug- 
gested a social intimacy from which she and her 
like were excluded. The inevitable feeling of iso- 
lation made her feel embarrassed, and with her 
embarrassment always resulted in an unconquer- 
able desire to talk. She accordingly plunged into 


126 THE SWEETEST SOLACE 


the one topic of conversation in which every resi- 
dent in Whitborough was interested. 

“ I trust Lord Streybridge is better, ma’am.” 

Bob Rowly ground his teeth in impotent fury, 
and Miss Blackiston replied: 

“Better! I had no idea the man was ill.” 

“The man!” murmured Gwendolen, with awe. 
“ She called him ‘ the man ’ ! But ah ! she dines.” 

“ I saw in to-day’s Whitborough Herald, con- 
tinued Mrs. Rowly, “ that his lordship had swal- 
lowed a fish-bone on Monday evening, and that 
the butler had to ayply restoratives. I trust he 
is now able to take the air, as the saying is.” 

“ I’ve swallowed lots of fish-bones, mother,” 
cried Bob savagely, “ and I’ve always taken the 
air next day. It’s about the only thing in 'Whit- 
borough you can take without paying a rent or 
royalty to the distinguished invalid. I don’t 
suppose I differ from Lord Streybridge — ana- 
tomically ” 

Miss Blackiston looked at the little fellow with 
a spice of malice in her dancing eyes, and was 
about to suggest that inasmuch as Lord Strey- 
bridge’s neck, like the rest of his person, was 
a good deal longer, there was the greater chance 
of the fish-bone sticking, .when there came an- 
other ring at the bell, and the awful premonition 
that this was fuzzywig’s mamma checked the re- 
tort. 

The persentiment proved to be well founded. 
Mrs. Merrydew had enquired from a servant 
where her daughter had gone, and the moment 


BOB ROWLY’S OPPORTUNITY 127 

she saw Miss Blackiston enter No. 19, she 
screwed up her courage, and thought if ever that 
introduction had to be forced, now was the time. 

With her most languishing smile she sailed into 
the room, and having greeted Miss Francis with 
effusion, and her relatives, whom she did hot ex- 
pect to see, with an elegant patronage, she turned 
to Miss Blackiston with the very sweetest smile 
and with outstretched hands. 

“ Ah ! Miss Blackiston, I think we ought to 
know one another. My husband, I believe, has 
already the honour of your acquaintance.” 

“ I ordered some wine from him,” replied 
Peggy politely. 

“ Yes, I remember his mentioning the fact. 
He let you have some Chateau Lascombe Mar- 
gaux, which he usually reserves for Lord Strey- 
bridge. By the way, how is dear Lord Strey- 
bridge? I haven’t had a chat with him for ages.” 

“ I have just been told that he has swallowed 
a fish-bone,” replied Miss Blackiston. 

“ Swallowed a fish-bone ! Oh, Miss Blackis- 
ton, I sincerely hope — — ” Mrs. Merrydew’s 
voice sank into a confidential whisper; she turned 
her back upon her cousin Jane as one to whom 
Lord Streybridge’s health could not be a matter 
of the slightest concern, and her hand rested for 
one brief moment upon Miss Blackiston’s arm. 

“ Cheer up. Cousin Lizzie,” cried Bob Rowly, 
whose chubby face was crimson with indignation. 
“ Cheer up. Lord Streybridge still breathes. 
Hang him ! ” 


128 THE SWEETEST SOLACE 


Mrs. Ro'wly put her fingers to her ears, and 
Mrs. Merrydew held up her hands in speechless 
horror, but Miss Blackiston, with a demure smile, 
enquired: “ Come, now, why do you say ‘ Hang 
Lord Streyb ridge ’ ? ” 

“ Because he pervades Whitborough too gener- 
ally; because he might be a god and not a man, 
from the way people fall down and worship him. 
Wherein does he differ from the rest of us? 
Don’t we all breathe the same air of heaven, as 
Mr. Foden says?” 

“Mr. Foden, the builder, eh?” repeated 
Peggy. “Well, I should say, from his own. audi- 
ble methods of respiration, he takes more than 
his share. Certainly, when it’s in the proximity 
of any drain pipes he has laid himself, he’s wel- 
come to it. I’m sorry you’re intimate with him, 
for he’s an ingrained rascal; and as for Julian 
Streybridge, I’ve known him since I dangled him 
in long clothes, and a better, kinder, more honest 
young man couldn’t be found. Again, I ask you, 
what injury has he ever done you or anybody 
else? ” 

Bob Rowly was taken aback at the persistency 
with which Miss Blackiston pressed her question. 
On reflection, what harm had Lord Streybridge 
done him? With a diminished zeal, he replied: 

“ He’s done me no harm, and I am willing to 
admit that it is we people who are to blame. 
Why cannot we keep our backs straight and re- 
member that ‘ Kind hearts are more than coronets 


BOB ROWLY’S OPPORTUNITY 129 

and simple faith than Norman blood,’ as Mr. 
Foden says?” 

“ Oh, dear no,” protested Peggy, with dancing 
eyes. “ The man who said that was a very dis- 
tinguished poet. He took a coronet himself.” 

“ I don’t care,” replied Boh. “ The presence 
of a big house in the neighbourhood of a small 
community is like a upas tree, beneath whose 
deadly shade nothing can live and thrive.” 

“Foden?” conjectured Miss Peggy. 

“ Possibly,” admitted Bob lamely. “ But the 
question is not who says it, but is it true? Why, 
my dear madam, I ask you only to look at the 
people in this very Square. So soon as they re- 
ceive an invitation to Helstone Towers they turn 
their backs upon the friends of a lifetime.” 

“That’s not Mr. Foden,” observed Miss Black- 
iston, with a demure little smile. 

“No, Miss Blackiston, that’s myself. And if 
you only knew the indignities my mother here has 
endured at the hands of people who have known 
her from the cradle, you would understand what 
I meant when I said, ‘ Hang Lord Streybridge.’ ” 

“ You shan’t say it again in my presence, 
Robert Rowly,” cried Mrs. Merrydew excitedly. 
“ Gwendolen, stop snivelling at once; we had bet- 
ter go.” 

“ So had we. I’m afraid,” said Mrs. Rowly, 
with tears of maternal pride, yet terribly distressed 
withal. “ Oh, Miss Blackiston, I do hope you 
will not think hardly of my poor boy.” 

“ I’ll tell you, Mrs. Rowly, what I think of 
9 


130 THE SWEETEST SOLACE 

your son,” said Miss Blackistoo, with great dis- 
tinctness, and Bob folded his arms and prepared 
to take his punishment like a man. 

“ I am an old maid, Mrs. Rowly,” continued 
Peggy Blackiston, with the odd little quaver in her 
voice which Margaret had heard once before; 
“ but if I had married long years ago, and it 
had pleased God to send me children, I should 
have asked for no better son than your boy. It 
would be an impertinence on my part to call on 
you now, after having lived so many years in the 
Square without having already done so; but if 
your son here cares to have a chat and a cup of 
tea with an old woman like myself, I shall be very 
glad to see him, and if he cares to bring a lady 
with him I shall be delighted to see her also.” 
And with a significant look in the direction of 
Gwendolen Merrydew, Peggy stretched forth her 
hand to the astonished lad, who shook it with 
genuine warmth. 

“ A lady ! ” cried the irrepressible Mrs. Mer- 
i*ydew. “ I shall be charmed to come at any time 
with dear Robert.” 

“ I feel very flattered,” Miss Blackiston replied 
sweetly, “ but I confess I was thinking of another 
lady — more of our young friend’s age.” 

“ Oh, that woman ! ” cried Peggy Blackiston, 
so soon as she was alone with Margaret. “ What 
a skin ! I once heard that there was a human 
tannery during the French Republic. A manual 
on ‘ Social Shove,’ bound in Elizabeth-Merry- 
dew, would outlast the civilization it was intended 


BOB ROWLY’S OPPORTUNITY 13 1 

to enlighten. Well, you saw my signal! Isn’t it 
splendid? Four per cent. I ” 

“ Oh, that was what you meant — and which 
is the bank?” 

“ Oh, banks I don’t talk of them. They all had 
the same ridiculous rate of interest on deposit, 
two and a half per cent., and when I besought 
them with tears for another quarter per cent., they 
said I scarcely grasped the principles of banking. 
So I took the cheque, on my own responsibility, 
and handed it over to my own banker. My dear, 
kind, charming banker, who will give you four 
per cent, from to-day, and here is his receipt.” 

She handed a slip of paper to Margaret, who 
read the signature, “ Thomas Swannick.” 

“ But that’s the solicitor next door,” said Mar- 
garet nervously. 

“ Exactly. He promised to invest the money 
in a safe mortgage in the course of the next 
month. Meantime, he gives you four per cent, 
for your money.” 

“ But Mr. Cox said a bank,” answered Mar- 
garet, who was very genuinely perturbed at the 
course her impulsive friend had taken. “ He 
wants the money to remain ready for investment. 
He made some reference in his letter to copper.” 

“ Most precarious thing in the world. Rex’s 
father lost £6,000 in copper works. Land can’t 
run away, and as for what your friend says about 
a bank — Mr. Swannick is himself a banker. 
He’s banker for half the squires in the county. 
In a few days’ time he’ll have three thousand 


J32 


THE SWEETEST SOLACE 


pounds of mine of which he’s co-trustee with Ad- 
miral Gascoigne. He’s as safe as the Bank of 
England, and gives you one and a half per cent, 
more interest. Indeed, Margaret, you ought to 
think yourself most fortunate that, for my sake, 
he consented to look after your little nest-egg.” 

“I do, indeed,” answered Margaret, who was 
quite satisfied with Miss Blackiston’s assurances. 


CHAPTER XIV 


AN OFFICIAL VISIT 

If Lord Streybridge looked “ glum ” as he passed 
Jessamine Francis in the Quarry Walk it was 
because he was greatly distressed at what he saw 
there and the very next occasion on which he 
met Admiral Gascoigne, he craved permission to 
have a few minutes’ private conversation. 

So soon as they arrived at Gascoigne House, 
Lord Streybridge began, in a very serious voice: 

“ I went a few days ago to the Quarry Walk, 
and there I found Rex standing under a tree with 
a very beautiful young girl, whom I know to be 
the younger Miss Francis. Fifty yards away at 
least, were the children, playing a game, appar- 
ently by themselves. Now, all that is very 
wrong.” 

“ It is,” replied the Admiral, “ and I am glad 
chance took you there.” 

“ Chance did not take me. I went to the 
Quarry Walk in consequence of a letter I received, 
as Chairman of the School Committee, from a 
lady whose child is in the school. She complained 
that young Mr. Gascoigne was in the habit of 
meeting Miss Jessamine Francis three times a 
week in the Quarry Walk, that it was very un- 
seemly that this silly philandering should take 

133 


134 


THE SWEETEST SOLACE 


place under the eyes of little children; and, unless 
it ceased, that she should remove her child at the 
end of the term. She went on to name the par- 
ticular afternoon upon which Rex, under the 
ridiculous pretext of teaching these children 
games, met Miss Francis, and she invited me to go 
there and substantiate her statements. I felt it 
my duty under the circumstances to go ” 

“ And apparently substantiated the statements,” 
interrupted the Admiral. “ Well, Em sorry. 
Deal as tenderly with these poor girls as you can.” 

“ I have no intention of dealing with them at 
all, if I can help it. I sent my informant — 
whom I know to be an officious sort of woman 
— a brief acknowledgment, in which I pointed 
out that young Mr. Gascoigne had known the 
young ladies well in Australia and had stayed in 
their father’s house; that his conduct, though per- 
haps injudicious, was not necessarily reprehensible, 
and that I had confidence in the good sense and 
discretion of the elder Miss Francis. That is 
how the matter stands now, but it won’t rest 
there, unless Rex discontinues this ridiculous 
course of conduct. Fie must be spoken to.” 

“ By whom ? ” enquired the Admiral. 

“ I would suggest yourself, because he would 
take it better from one so much older than him- 
self, and who occupies — in a sense — a parental 
position.” 

The Admiral shook his bullet head slowly, and 
involuntarily turned his eyes to the statue in the 
Square. 


AN OFFICIAL VISIT 


135 


“I am not Rex’s father — and I have never 
known a Gascoigne diverted from any course of 
conduct by being ‘ spoken to.’ For all his gentle 
ways, Rex is a Gascoigne, and to speak to him 
might convert a piece of boyish fun into a down- 
right calamity.” 

“ You don’t mean to suggest that he would 
marry the girl ! ” exclaimed Lord Streybridge. 

“ As matters stand, I should say the idea has 
not entered his mind. Put it into his head, that 
by his thoughtless conduct he has compromised 
the girl’s good name, and I would not answer for 
what he would do.” 

“ Well, whatever he may think or do,” said 
Lord Streybridge, with some warmth, “ he must 
stop going to the Quarry Walk. At least half 
our pupils have a local connection. Comment 
will only cease with the cause of it, and we can- 
not afford to have the enterprise wrecked at the 
outset. Again, if Rex is to stand as my nominee 
for the borough, no ridicule, much less censure, 
must attach to his name. Consider how this ab- 
surd episode might be utilised by an unscrupulous 
opponent. And lastly,” continued the young 
man, not without embarrassment, “ there is an- 
other thing to be thought of. Since you spoke to 
me on the subject, I have gone out of my way 
to give Rex opportunities of meeting my sister. 
Armine is not, I am thankful to say, an emotional 
person, and I have not the faintest notion with 
what feelings she regards your nephew, but you 
can scarcely expect me to continue my hospitality 


136 THE SWEETEST SOLACE 

to Rex so long as he is meeting this girl in a silly 
and secretive manner.” 

“ Oh, I quite understand that,” said the Ad- 
miral. “ Still, I am sure Rex is acting heedlessly, 
nothing more.” 

“ I don’t doubt that,” replied Lord Streybridge 
with conviction, as he remembered the shame- 
faced way in which Rex had turned his head away 
in the Quarry Walk. “ Still, if it be so, he may 
be doing this young girl an injury.” 

And with this final comment Lord Streybridge 
left the house in considerable perplexity, and pro- 
ceeded to the High School, rightly assuming that 
Mrs. Stanley had received a letter from the same 
correspondent. 

This proved to be the case, but that lady’s 
equanimity had been much less disturbed. Mrs. 
Stanley had no love for Lord Streyb ridge’s in- 
formant' — a Mrs. Fetch, mother of the inquisi- 
tive Minnie — she had a very high regard for 
Margaret Francis, and Jessamine, so she con- 
tended, was officially unconnected with the school. 
“ And really, if it comes to that,” she continued 
with warmth, “ why shouldn’t the girl meet young 
Mr. Gascoigne in the light of day ? Was a girl 
to be debarred from receiving the honourable at- 
tentions of any young man because her sister 
earned an honourable living as a schoolmistress? ” 
Then Lord Streybridge remembered that Mrs. 
Stanley had herself been a mistress in a high 
school when she met the consumptive minor 
canon, whom she subsequently married. Nor was 


^N OFFICIAL VISIT 


137 

Lord Streybridge in a position to dispute her con- 
tentions. 

If Rex Gascoigne really loved the poor, obscure, 
though very beautiful girl, Lord Streybridge was 
not the man to stand between them. He had 
not been pursued for five years by every match- 
making mother in Mayfair without realising the 
horrors of the modern marriage mart. But did 
Rex so love the girl? Lord Streybridge could 
not believe it. Had he cared for her he would 
not have turned away from his old friend and 
schoolfellow, embarrassed and ashamed. On the 
contrary, he would have faced him and all the 
world, radiant and triumphant. Moreover, he 
did not meet the girl, as Mrs. Stanley declared, 
in the light of day, except in the literal sense. 
These interviews were of a semi-clandestine na- 
ture. 

Nothing could be more disastrous for a young 
fellow of Rex Gascoigne’s temperament than to 
be forced into a loveless marriage from fear 
of a scandal. Nor, indeed, would such a course 
be less productive of unhappiness to the girl her- 
self. Surely if Rex was, as the Admiral sug- 
gested, merely indulging in a little boyish fun, 
the sooner these meetings ended the better it 
would be for all parties. There was also the 
welfare of the school to be considered. 

The Admiral had solemnly warned him against 
“ speaking to Rex.” The old sailor, though a man 
of unusual moral courage, shrank from the task 
himself. Mrs. Stanley refused to move hand or 


138 THE SWEETEST SOLACE 

foot in the matter. There was, in short, only one 
course to be pursued. He must see Miss Francis 
himself. 

She was, from all accounts, a sensible young 
woman, who was probably in entire ignorance of 
her sister’s conduct, and if the interview proved 
painful it would probably be the means of pre- 
venting still greater pain in the future. 

Accordingly, the next afternoon, when Mar- 
garet Francis was engaged with her pupils, she 
received an intimation that Lord Streybridge de- 
sired to see her upstairs. 

Margaret had naturally expected a formal visit 
from the Chairman of the Committee and had, 
indeed, rather resented his apparent indifference 
to her efforts in the new venture, but she certainly 
did not desire that, or any other interview, on this 
particular afternoon, for it happened that very 
morning, whilst Jessamine was with the children, 
she betook herself for a little fresh air to the 
“ precincts ” and there she met Canon Marston 
escorting some visitors through the Cathedral. 

Having obtained the key of the old refectory 
he was about to show that beautiful specimen of 
early Gothic architecture to his friends, when he 
saw Margaret Francis and invited her to accom- 
pany them. Now the refectory of the ancient 
abbey, which flanks one side of the Cloisters, has 
for more than a century been used as the class- 
room of the choristers, and it is here the organist 
superintends the daily practice. It is a very noble 
hall, practically unchanged from the days when 


AN OFFICIAL VISIT 


139 


the monks ate their frugal meals therein. But it 
was not the architectural beauty of the chamber 
that at once arrested Margaret Francis’s attention. 
On the old oak panelling which surrounded the 
room from floor to ceiling were a number of 
names painted in black letters, and above each 
panel was a date. Following the panels back year 
by year to where they commenced she discovered 
that they represented the names of those boys of 
the Great School at Whitborough who had sung 
in the Cathedral choir, beginning at the date when, 
seventy years before, the little independent Choir 
school, ruled over by a lay clerk, had been amal- 
gamated with the greater school on the same foun- 
dation. At once Margaret realised the import of 
her discovery, and oblivious of the beauty of the 
building and Canon Marston’s panegyrics thereon, 
she ran her eye quickly down the panels which 
represented the decade in some portion of which 
her father’s boyhood must have lain. The paint 
was faded, but the names were clearly legible. 
When Canon Marston turned to speak to her he 
observed on her face that curiously strained ex- 
pression that had excited his pity when they first 
met. Among their names was not to be found 
that of Henry Francis. 

One inference and one only, was possible. 
Her father — her dear, pitiful, most loving father 
' — had changed his name. 

A man does not seek exile and take unto him- 
self a new name without a reason, and that reason 


140 THE SWEETEST SOLACE 

is invariably the same, he can no longer bear with 
credit the name wherewith he was born. 

It was, therefore, with a sad heart and a pre- 
monition of impending troubles that Margaret 
answered the summons; and yet so schooled was 
she in self-control, so soon as she entered the room 
Lord Streybridge was assailed by an immediate 
conviction that the schoolmistres herself was cer- 
tainly no accessory in her sister’s indiscretion. He 
looked at the pale, straight face, and the candid 
steadfast eyes of the woman who approached him 
with so much simple dignity, and felt intuitively 
that here was no vulgar schemer endeavouring to 
compromise or ensnare a lad of promise and posi- 
tion. Her unaffected bearing made his task the 
easier, yet it was with a very unusual feeling of 
embarrassment that he plunged in medias res. 

“ I am glad to make your acquaintance. Miss 
Francis, but I am afraid I am come to-day upon 
rather a painful errand.” 

“ A painful errand,” repeated Margaret Fran- 
cis, a hot flush surging into her pale cheeks at this 
unexpected prelude. “ Have I fallen short in my 
duties ? ” 

“ No, indeed,” replied Lord Streybridge with 
energy. “ I hear on all sides the most golden 
opinions of you and your work, and what I 
have to say does not concern you, except indirectly, 
it applies rather to your sister.” 

“ To my sister! ” cried Margaret, her self-pos- 
session for one brief moment shaken. “To my 
sister ! ” 


AN OFFICIAL VISIT 


141 

“ Pray do not be distressed. It is, I am sure, 
only a small matter which can easily be set right. 
I think my old friend and school-fellow, Rex Gas- 
coigne, is also an old friend of yours?” 

“We knew him in Australia. He stayed with 
us,” replied Margaret with sinking heart. Her 
premonition was not unfounded. 

“Well, some days ago I received a letter from 
the parent of one of your pupils, in which she 
complained that Mr. Gascoigne was in the habit 
of meeting your sister in the Quarry Walk and 
helping her to play games with the children. I 
am sure these interviews were in all innocence, but 
this is a censorious world and gossiping tongues 
are apt to make unkind remarks.” 

He paused and looked up at the girl and his 
heart smote him, for never had he seen such mis- 
ery and fear upon a woman’s face. 

“You say she has met him constantly?” she 
asked in a hard, strained voice. 

“ My informant, whose name I cannot in honour 
give you, said regularly — three times a week — 
every occasion, in short, on which your sister took 
the children to Quarry Walk.” 

“ Oh, my poor Jessy! ” 

The words came involuntarily from Margaret 
Francis’s lips. Fain would she have recalled 
them, but it was too late, and they went straight 
to the kind and manly heart of the man who heard 
them. 

“ I am very sorry about it,” he said, “ and I 


142 THE SWEETEST SOLACE 

implore you not to take the matter too much to 
heart.” 

Margaret made no reply. She stood with one 
hand on the chimney-piece, utterly dumb in her 
misery. 

This, then, was the cause of her sister’s radiant 
happiness when she returned from the Quarry 
Walk. That unhappiness must ensue from such 
a passion was not less horribly certain. If Rex 
did not care for Jessamine — and it was scarcely 
conceivable that a young man of his social posi- 
tion and prospects could give more than a passing 
thought to the obscure colonial girl — what could 
result but all the unhappiness of an unrequited 
attachment? If, again Rex did love her, how 
could she ever marry him, with this mystery at- 
taching to them. Could she ever forget Jessa- 
mine’s own words that she would rather die than 
marry a man from whom some shameful secret 
had been withheld. 

“ What do you wish me to do, sir,” after some 
moments’ silence; “speak to my sister?” 

“ No, indeed I I should be most distressed if 
she suffered any humiliation and pain. Surely 
you could arrange matters that she did not meet 
Mr. Gascoigne in the Quarry Walk without dis- 
closing to her that her conduct had excited any 
comment, and that is all that is necessary so far 
as the school is concerned.” 

“Yes,” repeated Margaret, with a slight note 
of bitterness, “ that may be all, so far as the 
school is concerned, but it is not enough so far a§ 


AN OFFICIAL VISIT 


143 


my sister’s happiness is concerned. Mr. Gas- 
coigne must cease meeting my sister, not only In 
the Quarry Walk, but anywhere. You are his 
friend; could you not ask him to consider her un- 
protected position?” 

“ If I, or anyone else, appealed to him on these 
grounds, he would probably consider your sister’s 
unprotected position and nothing else. You un- 
derstand what I mean. I will speak to him, if 
you wish,” said Lord Streybridge, with perfect 
sincerity. 

“ No, no, anything but that,” cried Margaret 
with a look of horror In her eyes for which he 
could not account. “ Anything but that. Will 
he not be going away soon? He is a barrister 
now — surely he must be returning soon to his 
work In London.” 

“ That’s the worst of It,” replied Lord Strey- 
bridge uneasily, “ he cannot go away just at 
present. There is a probability, amounting al- 
most to a certainty, that he will be invited to con- 
test this constituency at the next General Election. 
In the meantime the local wire-pullers, who are 
in the secret. Insist that he should stay here for 
the next few months and appear at meetings and 
so on, so that when the formal announcement is 
made he will not come among the voters as a 
stranger. I am afraid It seems very cynical that 
your sister’s happiness should be Imperilled by 
such a thing, but you know what politics are, and 
I have given pledges about him to those In high 


144 


THE SWEETEST SOLACE 


places from which I cannot possibly withdraw 
without exciting suspicions as to the real cause.” 

“ Then I do not know what to suggest. Oh, 
how I wish we had never come here! ” 

The girl spoke with passion, and at once there 
occurred to Lord Streybridge a solution, the only 
apparent solution to the difficulty. 

“You will not misinterpret my motives nor 
think that I do not appreciate all you have done 
for the school, but if you really regret having 
come here, and are apprehensive of your sister’s 
happiness so long as she stays in Whitborough, 
I might suggest there is an obvious means of es- 
cape.” 

“ You mean if Mr. Gascoigne cannot leave 
Whitborough, we can?” 

“ I confess that was what struck me. I assure 
you I am only thinking of your welfare.” 

“ Of that I have no doubt,” replied Margaret 
gravely. “ I daresay it would be best to go, but 
of course, one naturally feels some reluctance to 
take such a course. I have grown to love these 
children very dearly — and I have made a few 
nice friends, and of course, there is always the 
anxiety of seeking a new situation.” 

The words jarred upon Lord Streybridge’s 
ears. He had lived amongst women who needed 
not “ situations,” who toiled not, neither did they 
spin — yet wherein did they differ from this poor 
woman, whose bread depended on her daily 
work ? 

“ So far as the latter is concerned you need 


AN OFFICIAL VISIT 


145 


have no apprehension. I know many ladies emi- 
nent in the world of education who could easily 
obtain for you work far more responsible and re- 
munerative than that which you are doing now. 
But as regards the other drawbacks, I cannot give 
an opinion. I should never have suggested your 
leaving Whitborough had you not considered your 
continued presence fraught with grave peril to 
your sister’s happiness. Pray do nothing hastily,” 
he added, rising to go. “ I wish you had some 
independent friend to advise you — a man for 
choice.” 

“ A friend of mine will be coming to-morrow,” 
said Margaret, “ but in these matters,” she added 
with a sad little smile, “ a woman’s own heart 
is the best and only adviser. The meetings in the 
Quarry Walk shall cease and I thank you for the 
kind manner in which you have performed a pain- 
ful duty.” 

10 


CHAPTER XV 

THE SQUATTER OF GARLONGA 

The very next morning, when Admiral Gascoigne 
and his nephew, returning from their morning 
constitutional, had just arrived at the steps of 
Gascoigne House, Rex suddenly gave a cry of de- 
light, and ran forward to greet a little man who 
had just entered the Square and was walking 
briskly towards them. 

“ Hulloh, Mr. Cox, don’t you remember me ? 
I am Rex Gascoigne who stayed with you at Gar- 
longa.” 

The man looked the young man up and down 
from head to foot, then wagged his bullet head 
appreciatively. He then shook hands with great 
heartiness. 

“ Uncle John,” said Rex eagerly, “ let me intro- 
duce you to my friend Mr. Cox, who saved me 
from those racecourse roughs at Sydney, and gave 
me such a good time at Garlonga.” 

Admiral Gascoigne, who had been looking 
keenly at his nephew’s friend, was fain to confess 
that Mr. Cox’s appearance at first sight was not 
pre-possessing, and he could appreciate the preju- 
dice that had existed in the Australian hotel. He 
was a small man, sparely built, but very board 
in the shoulder. Despite his grey hairs, his step 
146 


THE SQUATTER OT GARLONGA 147 

was as light as that of a feather-weight boxer, and 
from top to tO€ he seemed to quiver with eager 
restless vitality. Had he ever possessed even 
passable looks he had long since forfeited the 
same, for his left eye was glazed and sightless, and 
an ugly red cicatrice ran down the left side of 
his face from eyebrow to chin. His remaining 
eye was bright as a lighted match. Nor did the 
close-cropped thatch of white hair which crowned 
a face, the colour of mahogany, and the grizzled 
moustache which looked as though it had been 
clipped by a pair of nail-scissors, detract from his 
grim and sinister appearance. 

The Admiral was not a man to give undue 
weight to looks, so he held his hand out with 
frank smile and said, “ I have already heard of 
you from my nephew — we’re just going in to 
lunch. I hope you’ll join us.” 

The squatter was about to take the proffered 
hand, when he stopped, and said rather abruptly: 
“ Thank ye kindly, sir, but I must go on. I 
haven’t seen the two girls for five long years. I’m 
like a strayed beast within sight o’ water.” He 
raised his hand in a sort of half-salute, and 
stumped on. 

“ I wonder if he’s been a sailor,” said the Ad- 
miral, looking after him. “ He walks like one, 
and, for a moment, I thought he was going to 
salute me.” 

“I gathered from him that he served once in 
some foreign navy. South America, I think.” 


148 THE SWEETEST SOLACE 


“ Well, he doesn’t seem very appreciative of 
attention, Rex. He didn’t take my hand. Did 
you notice?” 

“ He was diffident, uncle. You see he might 
not like to shake hands with an Admiral.” 

“ Perhaps not, my boy,” replied the uncle, “ and 
I don’t doubt he’s a plucky little fellow, and 
helped you when you were in a tight place. I 
wonder where he got that scar? ” 

In the meantime Cox walked on rapidly, count- 
ing the numbers until he came to No. 19, where 
he gave a rat-rat which roused the whole Square. 
The little girls stared when they saw their grave 
mistress dash into the hall, and Benjamin Cox got 
that draught of water for which he had pined for 
five weary years. 

And when the early dinner was over, and the 
children had been sent upstairs to dress for their 
walk, they talked of all things and sundry — their 
father, Baroopna, Garlonga, the old neighbours, 
the horses, the dogs, the jolly stockmen, and what 
not. Then he would run his solitary eye over 
Jessamine, from the top of her glistening hair to 
her dainty little feet, and say softly, “ And that is 
really my little Jessamine. Taller a lot, pretty as 
a May morning, and her hair tricked up and all. 
But Jessy, dear,” he continued, “ it must be mighty 
hard living cooped up in a city, you who was so 
mighty fond of your games. There’s nowhere to 
play them here. I’ll warrant.” 

“ Oh yes, I play games — with the children,” 


THE SQUATTER OF GARLONGA 149 

answered Jessamine, without looking at Margaret. 
“ There’s a charming avenue on the outskirts of 
the city, called the Quarry Walk. We play lots 
of games there.” 

“ I reckon these town-bred kiddies can’t run 
like you used to at Baroopna with young Gas- 
coigne. By the way, I met him as I came here. 
Grown into fine man — strong and eager. I sup- 
pose,” he added thoughtfully, “ he wouldn’t join 
you at the games with the little ones — he used to 
be uncommon, fond of children.” 

“ Such a thing would never do,” interrupted 
Margaret quickly, “ because, of course, Jessy is 
now grown up, and people would talk, wouldn’t 
they, dear?” 

Jessy’s face turned very red, and she replied, 
that “ people talked about most things, especially 
their neighbours; but she was glad Mr. Cox had 
met Mr. Gascoigne.” 

“ I was bound to, sooner or later — and I sup- 
pose you see a good deal of him, living in the same 
Square? ” 

“ I see him occasionally,” said Margaret, point- 
edly; “at friends’ houses, of course.” 

“And you. Jessamine?” enquired the old man 
playfully. “ He was always your particular friend 
at Baroopna.” 

“ Oh, I meet him — occasionally — sometimes 
— that is — at friends’ houses, and about.” 

She gave a covert glance at Margaret, who was 
happily looking another way, and then, with a self- 


150 THE SWEETEST SOLACE 

satisfied little sigh, that only reached the quick 
ear of Ben Cox, she observed that she ought to be 
going out with the children. 

“ Don’t go to the Quarry Walk, dear,” said 
Margaret, in a voice that sounded unnecessarily 
authoritative. “ Take the children a sharp walk 
down the Tremlett Road.” 

“ She’s very beautiful,” said Cox, when the door 
closed, “ and so like your father. How fond he 
was of Mr. Gascoigne I ” he added, somewhat irrel- 
evantly. 

“ Oh yes, I suppose he was,” replied Margaret 
uneasily. “ And now, we must talk a little bus- 
iness. First, I must thank you for all you have 
done for us. The cheque you sent ” 

“ Never mind the cheque, that will keep for the 
present — so long as it’s safe and earning a fair 
rate of interest we must not trouble about it yet 
awhile, and now I may as well tell you why. 
Years ago your father once told me of some copper 
works in India, in which, I gathered, some friends 
of his had invested and lost a regular pot o’ money. 
They were called the Bhopal works. I remember- 
ed the name when, last year, a poor half-pay officer 
in Sydney whom I had helped told me he had also 
lost money in the venture, and had been persuaded, 
like a true gambler, to clap some more money in 
what he called its resuscitation. Being unable 
to repay my loan, and me not wishing to press 
the poor fellow to his last mag, I took from him as 
equivalent an option to take over his investment. 


THE SQUATTER OF GARLONGA 15 1 

paying him at par if the thing was ever converted 
into a company. Well, if the company is formed, 
it will be because it’s an uncommon good thing; 
and if I am sure of its soundness I will let you chil- 
dren take it over instead of me. We’ll hear soon 
enough if the scheme goes through, so it’s no use 
bothering about the money now. Your holidays 
will be coming soon, and then we can all go to- 
gether to some jolly place and tear round, as the 
saying is.” 

“ I am afraid,” she replied, with embarrass- 
ment, “ that we shan’t be able to go away im- 
mediately the term ends. I may have to remain 
to pack up and make certain arrangements. This 
is quite a secret, and I haven’t told Jessy yet^ but 
I think it very probable that I am going to give up 
this appointment and leave Whitborough.” 

“Leave!” cried the little man aghast. “In 
your very last letter you said the place suited 
Jessy’s health, and that you had never been hap- 
pier.” 

“ Oh yes, we’ve been happy enough, and the 
place certainly suits Jessy,” replied Margaret, with 
troubled brow; “but, you know, the remuneration 
is very small compared to what I ought to get. 
Lord Streybridge, our chairman, only told me 
yesterday that he would gladly use his influence 
to obtain for me an appointment, where I should 
occupy a more responsible position and get a very 
much larger salary.” 

“Salary!” repeated Cox, with an indignant 


152 THE SWEETEST SOLACE 

snort. “ Pooh! You have got a snug little sum 
of money and I have lots more — let us spend it 
whilst Pm alive to see the fun. Only do you stick 
on here for the present and give me time to turn 
round.” 

“ Oh, Mr. Cox, you’re too kind and good to us 

— still ” Margaret stopped, and then added, 

with an effort, “ I think it best we should leave 
Whitborough at the end of the term.” 

The old squatter saw that the girl spoke from 
conviction, and that her face was grave and set; 
so he hastened to reply: 

“ Well, of course you know your own affairs 
best.” 

When he got back to his hotel the old man 
racked his brains as to the real reason of this sud- 
den determination. Of course, there was some- 
thing behind. He bethought him of Jessy’s 
tender little sigh after young Gascoigne’s name had 
been mentioned, and he wondered if the proxim- 
ity of that cheerful young man could have any 
bearing upon the case. “ I suppose I shall know 
the reason some day,” he muttered, as he turned 
into bed. 

This, indeed, proved to be the case. And very 
much sooner than he had anticipated Benjamin 
Cox did hear the reason, or, at least, a reason for 
Margaret’s conduct, but it was not from her lips. 

Some days after as he was sitting one afternoon 
in the smoking-room of the Imperial Hotel, read- 
ing a paper over his pipe, there entered that apart- 


THE SQUATTER OF GARLONGA 153 

ment a string of men, the fungleman whereof was, 
as Cox observed from behind his paper, a burly 
man with a red face, a loose underlip and a slight 
cast in one of his moist eyes. He rang the bell 
with violence, and having ordered refreshment for 
the party, exclaimed, “Hulloh! where’s Bob 
Rowly? Ah, here he is. Where did you disap- 
pear to. Bob?” he asked peremptorily. 

“ I waited for a moment tO' — well, to open a 
cab door for a lady, Mr. Foden,” Bob Rowly re- 
plied, with a rising colour. 

“ For a lady. What was her name? Come, 
out with it, Robert.” Mr. Foden wagged his 
fat forefinger with ponderous humour, and Bob 
looked rather uncomfortable as he replied: 

“ It was Miss Blackiston, of Gascoigne Square.” 

“ Oh, was it! ” replied Mr. Foden, his red face 
getting still redder, and his jocularity suddenly 
evaporating. “ And might I enquire,” continued 
Mr. Foden sardonically, “ when and under what 
circumstances you became acquainted with the ex- 
clusive Miss Blackiston?” 

“ I met her by chance when calling with my 
mother at the house of Miss Francis, the new 
schoolmistress,” he replied sullenly. 

Mr. Foden turned sharply round as he heard the 
stranger’s newspaper rustle; but the latter, whom 
they rightly assumed to be a casual guest in the 
house, seemed to be merely turning the page, for 
he resumed his reading unconcernedly. 

“ The Miss Francises,” cried one of the young 


154 the sweetest SOLACE 

men. “ Bob, you’re in luck. They’re most un- 
common slap-up girls. You must take us all 
there.” 

‘‘ You’d better hurry up, boys, for, unless I’m 
very much mistaken, the Miss Francises won’t 
long shed their radiance upon Whitborough,” 
said Mr. Foden. 

“Why not?” asked Bob stoutly. “Miss 
Francis has proved a great success. Mrs. Stanley 
told my mother so.” 

“ Mrs. Stanley is a mere subordinate herself. 
The retention of Miss Francis lies, like everything 
else in this venal city, in the hands of my Lord 
Streybridge.” 

“ Well,” retorted Bob, “ why should Lord 
Streybridge want her to be sacked?” 

“Because, Robert, for some time past that at- 
tractive young gentleman, Mr. Rex Gascoigne, 
has been in the habit of going three days a week 
to the Quarry Walk to assist the younger Miss 
Francis in her duty of amusing these dear little 
children. Now a few days ago Lord Streybridge 
was seen by our friend Mrs. Fetch — who dis- 
creetly hid behind the trees — walking down the 
walk just at the very moment when Rex Gas- 
coigne and Miss Jessamine Francis were standing 
very close together under a tree. My lord did 
not speak to Rex, nor asked to be introduced to 
the young lady. If you ask why. I’ll tell you: 
because Lord Streybridge resented the presence of 
Miss Francis in the Quarry Walk.” 


THE SQUATTER OF GARLONGA 155 

“ What business is it of Lord Streybridge, any- 
way? ” asked one of the young men. 

“ Tom Parlly,” replied the builder, “ everything 
in this city is the business of Lord Streybridge. 
He has a finger in every pie. By helping one insti- 
tution and crushing another, by meeting this deficit 
and refusing to meet that, he has reduced the 
citizens of Whitborough to such a state of sub- 
jection that they can’t raise a chimney or cut down 
a tree without his august permission. Unless we 
bow the knee, the flower-show becomes a perfect 
fiasco; unless we doff our caps, a ward in the in- 
firmary is closed. Of course, we ought tO' pay for 
these things ourselves, and we deserve the indig- 
nities we suffer. Ah, my boys,” cried the moist- 
eyed scamp, “ you should go tO' the colonies, where 
one man is as good as another, where all breathe 
the same air of heaven, and all hold their heads 
erect, like men.” 

“ Oh, there are some mean-spirited fellows down 
under, too,” said a voice from behind the speaker. 
Foden turned round and saw that the little stranger, 
whose single eye blazed with animation, had laid 
down his paper. “You’ll pardon me,” he con- 
tinued, “ I could not help overhearing what you 
were saying, and I have only just come over from 
the colonies. Still, I can’t follow you in this. If 
the young man you talk of wanted to meet this 
young person, why should this great nobleman 
step between ’em ? Surely he must have some mo- 
tive besides just a whim for interfering.” 

“ He has a motive, sir. He has a sister — as 


156 THE SWEETEST SOLACE 

stuck-up a piece of goods as himself — but good- 
looking — oh yes — no one can say Lady Armine 
Helstone ain’t got her points. She is wealthy — 
for a woman — and Lord Streybridge naturally de- 
sires that she should marry a man with a career, 
who is also a friend of his own. Young Gascoigne 
answers to that description. And as for a career, 
that can be supplied, like everything else in Whit- 
borough, by Lord Streybridge at the expense of 
the community. There is a rumour that Lord 
Streybridge’s uncle is retiring from Parliament, 
and with singular significance young Rex has com- 
menced to attend political meetings with great 
assiduity. That’s how matters stand. Master 
Gascoigne is always being asked to Helstone Tow- 
ers, and I am willing to lay an even sovereign 
that Miss Francis vacates her position at the end 
of the present term. Well, I must be off now, 
and you can turn this little episode over in your 
mind when you get back to your home in the 
colonies.” 

“ I daresay I shall do it before that,” answered 
Ben Cox grimly, as he lit another pipe. 

“ Maggie,” said he that evening, when they were 
sitting together alone, “ I don’t want to pry into 
your affairs, dear, but I have been thinking over 
what you said about going away. Now, tell me, 
has your sudden resolution anything to do with 
young Mr. Gascoigne and Jessy? ” 

Margaret Francis laid down her work and with- 
out hesitation replied: “Yes; it has, in a sort of 
way. Mr. Gascoigne has been seeing more of 


THE SQUATTER OF GARLONGA 157 

Jessy than is desirable, and I thought it best for 
her happiness that we should go away.” 

“ But if he likes her, Maggie, why should he 
not see as much of her as he wishes ? ” 

“ Oh, you do not understand. It is not like in 
Australia. Here Mr. Gascoigne is quite a great 
personage and we are mere nobodies. Besides, 
perhaps he does not really care for her in that 
sense.” 

“ Praps he does,” replied Cox. “Now when 
Lord Streybridge suggested you changing your 
present billet for a better had it already occurred 
to you to leave Whitborough? ” 

“Not exactly. Lord Streybridge knew I was 
in great distress and perplexity. There had been 
talk about Jessy and Mr. Gascoigne, though, thank 
goodness, she doesn’t know it. Things seemed at 
an absolute deadlock because, it happens, young 
Mr. Gascoigne cannot leave Whitborough just at 
present, so he suggested this as a possible way out 
of the difficulty. I assure you Lord Streybridge 
was most kind and considerate in the matter. I 
only wish I had an opportunity of telling him all 
I feel.” 

“ So do I, by God ! ” muttered Ben Cox to him- 
self, as he rose to go. 


CHAPTER XVI 


IN THE CLOISTERS 

No matter how strong Mr. Gascoigne’s persever- 
ance might prove, nor how dilatory night be that 
Committee, Jessamine Francis resolved not to go 
to the Cathedral Cloisters at half-past three on any 
Wednesday — she owed that much to her woman- 
hood. None the less, ever since Rex Gascoigne 
had mentioned the Prior’s Tower, Jessamine had 
been possessed by a not unreasonable desire to 
paint it. It was not merely that the spot in ques- 
tion must needs be picturesque above the ordinary 
(otherwise Mr. Gascoigne, who was so susceptible 
of impression, would not have specially selected it) , 
but rather because, if haply she could make a 
recognisable sketch of it, she would be in a po- 
sition to show him that his criticism and assistance 
was not, as he was fain to suppose, in the slightest 
degree indispensable to success. 

Accordingly, about four o’clock on the very next 
Friday, she started forth with sketch-block, paint- 
box and camp-stool to the Cloisters of the once 
famous Abbey of St. Bridget, which now lies to 
the north of the Cathedral nave. 

Jessamine placed her camp-stool in the central 
archway of the Eastern Cloister, exactly opposite 
the Prior’s Tower, and with great energy com- 
158 


IN THE CLOISTERS 


159 


menced to draw the outline upon her block. In 
the distance she could hear the. roll of the great 
organ, for the afternoon service had already com- 
menced. It was all very peaceful* — the gentle 
breeze stirred the ivy, and when the organ stopped 
and the choir was hushed, no other sound was 
there but the twittering of the birds, the “ little 
brothers of St. Francis.” Certainly, if she did not 
finish the sketch betimes her negligence would not 
be attributable to interruption; at least, that was 
what Jessamine Francis said to herself when she 
commenced the sketch. But ah! how futile is 
human anticipation ! Scarce had she drawn half a 
hundred strokes when she heard a step coming 
down the great stone stairs that led from the 
street without to the Cloisters. It was a man’s 
step — light, buoyant, and quick. Surely she knew 
it. Her pulse quickened, a soft light came into 
her dark eyes, and she soon heard the cheery 
voice she had learned to know so well exclaiming: 

“ Exactly! Just as I expected.” 

Jessamine had resolved to maintain a dignified 
silence, but the observation roused her indignation. 

“ Expected! That is too bad. To-day is not 
Wednesday, but Friday, and it is well past four.” 

“ Of course,” replied Rex eagerly. “I felt con- 
vinced, from your indignant reply the other day, 
that 3.30 on Wednesday was the particular hour in 
the week when I should not find you here. So my 
suggestion has at least limited to that extent my 
hours of vigil. Since I saw you last I have 
haunted these Cloisters like the wraith of a crim- 


i6o THE SWEETEST SOLACE 


inous monk. I have gone round and round, every 
afternoon from 4 to 6, with my occasional in- 
tervals for rest and recuperation. The course is 
a bit cramped, as they say in sporting circles. But 
I didn’t mind, for, of course, I knew I should find 
you here, sooner or later.” 

“ I don’t see any ‘ of course ’ about it,” replied 
Jessamine petulantly. “ Why do you say ‘ of 
course ’ ? ” 

“ Because I assumed you would like to sketch 
the tower, if only to show me my assistance was 
not necessary.” 

“ Indeed,” retorted Jessamine, “ have you been 
sharing the Cloisters with the Chapter House cat, 
to tell me I am like any other daughter of Eve.” 

“ No, Jessamine,” he replied gravely. “ I came 
really to tell you that which I should have told 
you the other day, if Lord Streybridge had not 
interrupted me.” 

“ You were certainly struck dumb,” replied Jes- 
samine mischievously, “ for you didn’t speak to 
him — and I hear he’s your oldest friend.” 

Rex Gascoigne turned even rosier than the red 
tower that was mantling in the setting sun. 

“ I ought to have done so, I know, and I have 
felt a coward ever since. I thought at the moment 
I looked extremely ridiculous, playing that game 
with the children.” 

“ Or rather not playing it,” answered Jessamine, 
“ But, that wasn’t quite the reason why you did 
not speak. You really thought you oughtn’t to 
have been with us at all. Mr. Cox asked me after- 


IN THE CLOISTERS 


i6i 


wards if you joined with me in playing with the 
children, and Margaret answered at once that you 
wouldn’t dream of doing such a thing as people 
would talk, for I was a grown-up woman now.” 

“ And what did you say? ” enquired Rex, feebly. 

“ I made no reply. I didn’t want to distress 
Margaret by my indiscretion.” 

“ My indiscretion, I am afraid,” cried the con- 
trite lad. 

“ Our indiscretion, let us say. But it is not to 
happen again. For Lord Streyb ridge must have 
been very shocked to look so grave.” 

“ Never mind Lord Streybridge,” cried Rex, 
impatiently. 

“ We won’t mind about him, because you must 
leave me to my sketch. How bright everything 
seems to-day. I haven’t seen so much colour since 
I left Australia.” 

“You have brought the colour with you across 
the seas,” said Rex softly, “ the darkness of the 
velvet night lies in your eyes, and when you laugh, 
lo ! the twinkling stars begin to shine therein ; the 
radiance of the flowers is in your cheeks; the 
iridescence of the foliage in your hair — your 
turned-up hair — and the — — ” here Rex paused 
as his glowing imaginery failed him. 

“ Dear me, I seem to be very absorbent,” cried 
Jessamine with a merry laugh, “but you have 
forgotten the chief element in all Australian colour 
— the sunshine.” 

“ That I would fain hope, lies ever in your 
heart,” said Rex with rapture. Then he added 
11 


1 62 THE SWEETEST SOLACE 


quickly, “ I think I should pop a little more stuff 
in the foreground. See, there’s the Chapter House 
cat. Let me guide your hand and I’ll show you 
what I mean.” He stretched forward his own 
hand and took hers gently. 

“Do you really know anything about it? 
Could you draw a cat? or are you as hazy about 
painting as you are about some of the other arts 
— poetry, for instance? Think of those rhymes 
to ‘ Jinks.’ ” 

“ I don’t know very much, but you shall teach 
me.” 

“ Teach you. I thought it was you who were 
going to teach me. You must certainly not guide 
my hand. I have to bear in mind what Margaret 
said. I am always trying now to remember that 
I am a woman, and I think you ought to remem- 
ber it, too-, sometimes.” 

“Sometimes!” cried Rex, leaping up. “For 
the last month, waking or sleeping, I have thought 
of nothing else. Confound it 1 ” 

This sudden exclamation was not meant as a 
commentary upon these persistent reflections. It 
was merely caused by the sudden opening of the 
great door that led into the north transept. Serv- 
ice was over — the voluntary boomed from the 
organ, and the sound of footsteps echoed through 
the Cloisters. 

“Had not you better hide?” said Jessamine 
with a little laugh. “ There are no trees, but 
these old pillars will conceal you from Lord Strey- 
bridge, if he happens to be here.” 


IN THE CLOISTERS 163 

Rex ground his teeth and went straight into 
the centre of the arch and leant over the low wall 
that separated them from the grass. All the 
world, including Lord Streybridge, could see him 
if they wished. 

In the meantime the choir boys in their surplices 
came two and two down the western Cloister 
towards the old refectory. A few of the congre- 
gation lingered for a brief moment in the north 
Cloister as they watched the evening sun bathing 
stone and sward in golden light and then went 
out at the eastern corner into the street — all, that 
is, but one devotee. The latter passed this gate- 
way, came on down the Cloister and halted just 
behind the camp-stool upon which Jessamine 
Francis sat. 

“ Dear me,” said a woman’s voice, “ what a 
charming sketch — a trifle unfinished, possibly, but 
perhaps you were interrupted.” 

The voice had a jarring ironic note and Jessa- 
mine Francis turned round to face the speaker. 
She was a small woman, dressed with elaborate 
care in a very fashionable costume. Her face 
might once have been comely, but there were puck- 
ering lines round the mocking mouth, and the 
eyes were keen and hard and shallow. Jessamine’s 
face grew pale when she looked upon that coun- 
tenance, so bright, intelligent, and sneering. 

“ I am sorry to disturb you. Miss Francis,” said 
the stranger, “ but I am Mrs. Fetch, the mother 
of one of your sister’s pupils. Seeing Mr. Gas- 
coigne lolling over the wall and a lady’s hat not 


1 64 THE SWEETEST SOLACE 

very far off, I could not help wondering if he was 
giving Miss Jessamine Francis a lesson in art that 
would rival his instruction in the pastimes of the 
nursery. It’s a pity a certain member of the 
Committee has not enjoyed another opportunity 
of seeing his young friend’s devotion to the chil- 
dren. He! He!” and with a mocking little 
laugh the intruder passed on. 

“ Oh, Jessy, dear Jessy,” cried Rex, as he sprang 
to the girl’s side, and looked into her face. The 
radiance had left her cheeks. She was white and 
trembling. Fear, dread fear, lay in her eyes. 
“ Oh, don’t look like that,” he said once again, 
and strove to take her hand. 

“ No, no, let me go home,” the girl answered 
piteously, “let me go home. Cannot you see? 
Lord Streybridge did not go down the Quarry 
Walk by chance. He had been told of us — of 
me. It was not by accident that Margaret 
warned me not to go there to-day. She knew, and 
she spared me the shame of a rebuke. I have 
brought reprimands and humiliation upon her 
whom I love above all the world. Let me go to 
her and ask her foregiveness, for that woman 
means us evil. Oh, that laugh! it rings in my 
ears like the knell of doom.” 

And white and stricken she gathered up her 
things and went forth into the evening light, and 
Rex returned home abased and shamed. Angry 
with himself for his lack of consideration to the 
poor girl, and very unreasonably annoyed with 
Lord Streybridge, who, he knew well, had done 
no more than his duty. 


CHAPTER XVII 

“ THE emperor’s CLOTHES ” 

If Rex Gascoigne felt a certain feeling of annoy- 
ance with regard to Lord Streybridge, there was 
another man in Whitborough who cherished a 
far deeper feeling of resentment against that well- 
meaning peer. When Cox told Margaret Francis 
that he would greatly like to tell Lord Streybridge 
what he thought of him, he spoke no more than 
the naked truth, and he walked back to his hotel 
that night in a perfect frenzy of rage and 
anguish. 

Nor did conversation with Mr. Foden on the 
following afternoon prove an emollient. On the 
latter’s departure, Ben Cox asked the manager of 
his hotel if the gentleman was a person of re- 
spectability and repute in the city. The manager 
replied that Mr. Foden was a gentleman of the 
very highest repute in Whitborough, and was 
respected by everybody, except, possibly Lord 
Streybridge, who regarded him no doubt as the 
one man in the city whose mouth he could not 
close. 

“ There are others, my friend,” replied Cox, 
with an ominous chuckle. “ Here, call that cab. 
Now, my man,” he said, as he got in, “drive me to 
Helstone Towers.” 


165 


1 66 THE SWEETEST SOLACE 


“ It ain’t no good, sir,” replied the cabman, 
“ the ’ouse ain’t on view. His lordship is at 
’ome.” 

“ I’m damned glad to hear it,” replied Cox. 
“ He’s the man I want to see.” 

It was a beautiful afternoon in spring, and the 
sun shone brightly, but Benjamin Cox, brooding 
over his darling’s wrongs, paid scant heed to the 
scenery through which they passed. 

And when they drew up at the heavily-studded 
door of the great house, it was with quickening 
pulse that Ben Cox leaped out of the cab and rang 
the bell. 

A footman in livery, tall, handsome, imperturb- 
able, opened the door. 

“Is Lord Streybridge at home?” asked Cox 
peremptorily. 

“ His Lordship is at ’ome, but he is engaged.” 

“ Then I can wait,” replied Cox, as he brushed 
past the servant and entered a high-domed hall, 
filled with portraits, armour and weapons of every 
epoch. The squatter eyed his surroundings with 
undisguised derision, and the footman, automaton 
as he was, raised perforce an enquiring eyebrow. 

“ Your card, if you please, sir. I do not know 
if his lordship can see you.” 

“ Card,” echoed Cox. “ I don’t carry cards. 
Here, take this.” 

There was a table in the centre of the hall on 
which were the usual writing materials. He drew 
a sheet of paper from a stationery cabinet and 


‘‘THE EMPEROR’S CLOTHES” 167 


wrote: “ Benjamin Cox, of Garlonga, N.S.W., a 
friend of Miss Francis.” 

The servant glanced at the missive and success- 
fully controlling the grin of the perfect scholar — 
Standard IV.- — proceeded to the library, where 
Lord Streybridge was engaged with his bailiff. 

Lord Streybridge took the paper, and being pos- 
sibly less perfectly trained than his man, certainly 
smiled as he read it. Then his face grew serious 
as he thought this must be the friend of whom 
Miss Francis spoke. Poor girl, forlorn must she 
be, indeed, if she had no other adviser than this 
illiterate backwoodsman. 

“ Show Mr. Cox in here at once, William. I 
will see you, Jessop, at another time.” 

The astounded footman returned and ushered 
Cox into the library. It was an enormous room, 
more than sixty feet long. Immediately opposite 
the door by which he entered was a deep em- 
brasure, running back twenty feet, completely lined 
with books and lit by an oriel window which 
reached right up to the roof. 

This little nook was untenanted at the moment 
and the western light poured through the high 
window. At one end of the room was a great 
organ, and all round, shelf upon shelf, were end- 
less rows of books. In a chair by the fireplace 
sat Lord Streybridge, and as the stranger en- 
tered he rose, and, overcoming the feeling of re- 
pulsion the extraordinary little man was apt to 
excite, met him with outstretched hand and pleasant 
smile. 


1 68 THE SWEETEST SOLACE 


The reception of these courtesies was not what 
he anticipated, for Benjamin Cox clasped his own 
strong hands behind his back, and said, with great 
brusqueness : 

“ Thank ye. I don’t want to shake hands with 
you, if it’s all the same. In fact. Eve come to 
ask you what sort o’ man d’you think yourself to 
drive Margaret Francis out of Whitborough ? ” 

“ I drive Miss Francis out of Whitborough! ” 
retorted Lord Streybridge. “It’s an absolute 
falsehood. If that’s what you’ve come to say you 
had better go.” And he placed his hand upon 
the bell. 

“ You may ring that bell, but I shan’t go until 
I’ve said what I came to say; I don’t know 
whether you want your flunkey to hear it.” 

Lord Streybridge, indignant as he was, did not 
ring the bell, and he contented himself with say- 
ing, as calmly as he could: 

“ I assure you, you are mistaken. If Miss 
Francis leaves Whitborough, it is because she con- 
siders such a course conducive to her happiness.” 

“ She’s perfectly happy. Here’s the last letter 
I got from her; read it.” 

“ Well, her sister’s happiness,” replied Lord 
Streybridge, waving aside the proffered letter. 

“ Ah, now we’ve got it, her sister’s happiness. 
Why are you afraid of her sister being unhappy? 
Shall I tell you? Because young Gascoigne has 
been paying the girl some attention, as the saying 
is, which can only lead to unhappiness — anyway. 


“THE EMPEROR’S CLOTHES” .169 


that’s how the matter has been placed before Mar- 
garet Francis.” 

“ Not by me,” cried Lord Streybridge, stung to 
the quick by this wanton misrepresentation of his 
recent action. 

“ D’you mean to say you did not spy upon ’em 
in the Quarry Walk and lay a complaint before 
Margaret? ” 

“ Spy ! that is no word to use to me. I went 
openly and because it was my duty to go. Nor 
was the complaint mine. It was made by one of 
the parents, and I had no option but to transmit 
it.” 

“ There may be something in that, and I’ll take 
back ‘ spy,’ ” said Cox, “ but there was no reason 
why you should suggest to Miss Francis that the 
only way in which her sister could be saved from 
this supposed unhappiness was by going away. 
For the matter of that, why can’t young Gascoigne 
go back to his books in London? ” 

“ He cannot go,” replied Lord Streybridge 
curtly. “ Had he been able to, I should not have 
suggested to Miss Francis the course you have so 
grossly misrepresented.” 

“ Of course he can’t leave,” continued the re- 
morseless little man, “ because you intend him to 
go into Parliament — as your nominee. And so 
he has to stick it out here. I suppose you can’t 
see these poor devils in Whitborough are just 
disfranchised, no less. They have to damned well 
take whom you tell ’em to.” 

“ Look here, my man,” said Lord Streybridge, 


THE SWEETEST SOLACE 


170 

as calmly as he could. “ You must curb your 
tongue. I am not in the habit of being spoken to 
like that.” 

“ Naturally you ain’t,” replied Cox, with glee. 

“ I don’t suppose anyone within fifty miles of 
Whitborough has ever ventured to tell you what 
he thought of you. But, you see, I come from a 
democratic country, where mouths are not easily 
closed, so I don’t mind telling you that you are 
sacrificing these two orphans because it is necessary 
for your political scheme that young Gascoigne 
should stay here and be forced upon these grovel- 
ling electors whether they want him or not.” 

“ You are doing me an injustice. I do not mean 
to sacrifice anyone — and as to Mr. Gascoigne’s 
candidature — I have consulted our local leaders 
and not heard a dissentient voice.” 

“ I daresay you haven’t. Who dare speak to 
you?” replied Cox, with a sneer. 

“Why not?” asked Lord Streybridge sharply. 

“ Why not I I’ll tell you why not! ” hissed the 
little man. “ Because they can’t afford to tell the 
truth. Because the money you pay to this, that, 
and the other, they ought to pay themselves. 
That’s why you’re met with smiles, and backs are 
bowed and caps are doffed. ‘ Why not,’ eh ? My 
God!” 

The scoffer gave a little mocking laugh and 
awaited his adversary’s reply. But it came not. 
Lord Streybridge sank back in his chair. Cer- 
tainly no man had ever spoken to him as this man 
had done. And for one brief fleeting moment an 


“THE EMPEROR'S CLOTHES" 171 


awful thought assailed him — was it all true? He 
remembered how, when he was a child, his mother 
once read to him that terrible allegory of Hans 
Christian Andersen’s “ The Emperor’s Clothes.’’ 
Was he that unworthy emperor? Were the citi- 
zens of Whitbo rough those sycophantic courtiers? 
No, no ! It was not so. He had done his duty 
by Whitborough, the people of Whitborough did 
no more than their duty to him. He roused him- 
self and said, with bland irony : 

“You overrate my political influence. Mr. Gas- 
coigne will not be elected for Whitborough unless 
he be worthy of it. And if I did suggest to Miss 
Francis that she should leave Whitborough, it was 
from no other motive than to spare her sister pain 
and regret, for I have reason to believe that young 
Gascoigne does not love her. Believe me, that is 
the truth.’’ 

“ It is not the truth,’’ cried Cox. “ The reason 
why you wish Jessamine Francis to leave Whit- 
borough is because you intend Rex Gascoigne to 
marry your sister. That is why you are always 
asking him to your house. Why, it’s only yester- 
day I heard the whole story in the public room of 
a hotel!’’ 

“Oh, Julian!’’ 

It was the cry of a woman’s voice which rang 
forth from the embrasure. Both men started and 
turned round. Cox, in utter bewilderment, be- 
cause only a few minutes before he had seen the 
little book-lined retreat entirely empty. To Lord 
Streybridge there was no mystery. In the middle 


172 


THE SWEETEST SOLACE 


of one of the bookcases was a door, the front 
whereof was faced with dummy books to preserve 
the appearance of symmetry. 

Cox held his breath — when lo ! there appeared 
before him, in the light of the evening sun, that 
which seemed, at the moment, almost a spiritual 
apparition. It was Lady Armine Helstone. She 
was already dressed for dinner, and the long sweep- 
ing robe of cream white silk flowed majestically to 
her feet. Then, as Benjamin Cox looked up in 
awe to that lovely face his heart smote him, for 
never had he seen such an expression of misery 
upon human face. Yet had Cox himself known 
suffering. The sensitive mouth was trembling, the 
eyes were stricken with grief, humiliation and won- 
der. Almost mechanically she swept back a truant 
tress of dark hair that had wandered from its 
coil. She looked at Cox fearlessly, and yet devoid 
of hatred or of scorn. Then she spoke: 

“ I thought, Julian, Mr. Jessop was still here 
with you. I came in to replace a book in the 
Oriel, and I chanced to overhear what — what you 
heard. What does it all mean? Who is this — 
your visitor? ” 

“ His name is Mr. Benjamin Cox. He comes, 
so he is pleased to inform me, from a country 
where mouths cannot be closed. Certainly he has 
been kind enough to speak to me to-day as I have 
never been spoken to in the whole course of my 
life, and now that he has pained and humiliated 
you, my sister, I trust he will cry quits with the 
House of Helstone and leave us.” 


“THE EMPEROR’S CLOTHES” 173 

Lord Streybridge felt strongly and spoke bitterly 
and his words stung like a gadfly. 

“ That ain’t fair,” cried Cox, “ and you wrong 
me. Believe me, miss,” he continued, passionately 
turning to the beautiful woman who stood before 
him, “ had I thought that you would overhear what 
I was saying I would have bitten the tongue out 
of my mouth rather than cause you pain, and I am 
sure, just from looking at you, that you knew noth- 
ing about — about what I said. Look you here. 
These two girls, Margaret and Jessamine Francis, 
have not a soul in the wide world to look to but 
me. Their father was the best friend I ever had. 
What can I do in return but protect his children? 
Five years ago I sent young Mr. Gascoigne to 
Baroopna. Jessamine was then a child. She’s lit- 
tle more now. I came to Whitborough only a few 
days ago, and scarcely had set foot in the place 
when I hear — by chance — that Jessamine had 
been meeting Mr. Gascoigne — as young people 
will — that Lord Streybridge had heard of it, and 
that, as a consequence, Margaret Francis would 
have to leave Whitborough. She had already told 
me she thought o’ goin’, and that, too, although 
she said in her last letter she had never been so 
happy since she left Australia. Naturally, I goes 
straight to her, and I asks her plump if it was Lord 
Streybridge as put the notion o’ going Into her 
head. Under pressure she has to own up that it 
was Lord Streybridge as had suggested it; but oh! 
he was so kind and considerate, and what not. 
Well, the party who had told me that Lord 


174 


THE SWEETEST SOLACE 


Streybridge would send Margaret packing, also 
told me the reasons his lordship really had for 
wishing to separate these young people, and they 
were nothing more’n or less than what you heard. 
Well, miss, I was so mad at the wrong which was 
being done my child — for my child she is, if a 
love as strong as any father’s can make her mine 
— that I says ‘ I’ll go and tell that great lord what 
I think of him.’ But had I known that you were 
likely to overhear what I was a-saying I would not 
have come at all. I wouldn’t — so help me, God ” 
— and he added humbly, “ I can say no more than 
I am sorry, and ask ye to forgive me for paining 
you so.” 

“ Forgive you?” cried Lord Streybridge bitter- 

ly- 

“ Hush, Julian,” interrupted Lady Armine, 
raising her hand. “ I am sure, Mr. Cox, that you 
are mistaken as to my brother’s motives with re- 
gard to Miss Francis. I have never known him 
do an unmanly action in his life; and as for my 
forgiving you, I assure you, if you think I have 
anything to pardon, you have my forgiveness from 
the bottom of my heart. You have done right to 
protect the children of the man you loved and 
honoured. Thrice happy is the girl who has so 
brave and disinterested a champion.” 

There was a quaint little catch in her soft, low 
voice, and Cox looked up into that noble face with 
a sort of awe. Her eyes were wet with tears, for 
the man’s rough words had touched her, and her 
smile — so he thought — was as heavenly as any- 


“THE EMPEROR’S CLOTHES” 175 


thing he, poor sinner, was ever likely to see. She 
saw his contrition and regret, and with the tenderest 
and most perfect graciousness she stretched out her 
hand in simple comradeship. 

The rough sailor took it. It looked white as 
alabaster in his hard, brown palm ; and then by an 
uncontrollable impulse he raised it reverently to 
his lips, and with a bow to Lord Streybridge he 
left the room. 


CHAPTER XVIII 


WOMANHOOD 

So soon as the door closed, Lady Armine turned 
to her brother and said: 

‘‘ Julian, is this true? ” 

“Is what true?” Lord Streybridge answered 
rather petulantly, for he was fain to consider his 
sister’s magnanimity to the. intruder extremely mis- 
placed. “ Is it true,” he continued, sinking back 
into his chair, “ that Rex Gascoigne has been asked 
here to ' be inveigled into a marriage with you ? 
Scarcely, my sister.” 

“ That is not what I mean,” she went on. “ I 
ask, is it true that you suggested to Miss Francis 
that she should leave Whitborough? ” 

“ I did — in a sense. She was apprehensive re- 
garding her sister’s happiness. Rex Gascoigne, 
for political reasons, could not go away. I have 
influence in the educational world, and so far from 
her suffering by the change, she would have gained 
substantial preferment.” 

“ But,” said Lady Armine gently, “ perhaps Rex 
loves the young girl.” 

“ Had I thought so, I would not have interfered. 
I had good reason for supposing he does not.” 

“ I cannot conceive Rex Gascoigne trifling with 
176 


WOMANHOOD; 


177 

any girl’s affections,” replied Lady Armine. 
“What induced your opinion?” 

“ I passed him standing with her under a tree 
in the Quarry Walk; they were supposed to be 
playing with the children, who were huddled to- 
gether in the distance. He avoided my eye — 
purposely — I could see. Had he truly loved the 
girl, he would have faced me boldly and un- 
ashamed.” 

“ And you drew your conclusions from that. 
Why, many things might have caused him embar- 
rassment. Most probably the mere fact of play- 
ing with little children may have made him feel 
ridiculous. You have acted precipitately. For- 
tunately it is not too late to remedy matters. Ring 
the bell and order a closed carriage.” 

“ What do you mean, Armine? ” cried her 
brother, rising from his chair. 

“ I mean, that Miss Francis must not resign her 
post. You must ask her to stay on. If Rex and 
this young girl have grown to care for each other, 
they must not be separated. Certainly, after 
what you heard a few minutes ago, you owe it to 
me that you, of all people, do not come between 
them. Ring the bell, dear Julian ” 

“ There^s no immediate hurry, I can go to- 
morrow.” 

“ But I cannot,” she persisted. “ I have en- 
gagements.” 

“ You, Armine! There is no necessity for you 
to come.” 

“ Oh yes there is. After what has already 
12 


1 78 THE SWEETEST SOLACE 


been said Miss Francis may not care to reopen so 
embarrassing a question with a man. She will 
refuse you. But she might, perhaps, listen to me 
— a fellow woman.” 

The Admiral’s Binnacle had just been lighted 
when' the carriage drew up at No. 19. As they 
entered the hall they heard the sound of chil- 
dren’s voices singing, whilst the deeper notes of a 
woman’s voice blended softly with them. It was 
the little ones singing, as was their wont at close 
of day. Bishop Ken’s evening hymn. The piping 
little voices rose and fell : 


“ Forgive me, Lord, for Thy dear Son, 

The ill that I this day have done, 

That with the world, myself, and Thee, 

I, ere I sleep, at peace may be.” 

As Armine Helstone turned to her brother her 
eyes were wet. It was the hymn they used to sing 
as children to their mother, and it was with this 
sweet, tender recollection rising in their hearts that 
they entered the little room where Margaret 
Francis sat. 

Jessamine had necessarily deferred speaking to 
her sister of the encounter with Mrs. Fetch that 
afternoon until the children had gone to bed. 
Nor had Margaret, in her turn, disclosed to her 
sister her determination to leave Whitborough. 
But the letter to the Committee had been written 
and was actually lying on the writing-table. The 
sudden and unexpected knowledge that Jessamine 
loved Rex Gascoigne; the hooelessness of such a 


WOMANHOOD 


179 


love; her own inability to explain her motives in 
bringing about a separation without alluding to 
the mystery which, she could no longer conceal 
from herself, surrounded her father’s youth, had 
all combined to disturb that cheerful equanimity 
with which she had hitherto borne all the trials 
and vicissitudes of their wandering life. And 
when Lord Streybridge and Lady Armine Hel- 
stone sent up their names with a request for an 
immediate interview, she was fain to wonder what 
new calamity did this belated visit portend. 

“ Pray sit down. Miss Francis,” said Lord 
Streybridge kindly. “ This is my sister. Lady 
Armine Helstone, and we have come at this in- 
opportune hour to ask you to reconsider the de- 
cision you came to, at, I am afraid, my instigation, 
and not leave Whitborough and the little school 
that owes so much to you.” 

“ It is kind of you to come. Lord Streybridge, 
and your sister, too. But so long as certain rea- 
sons exist, which necessitated this course, I am 
afraid I have no alternative. Indeed, there lies 
my letter to the Committee.” 

Lady Armine involuntarily made a little gesture 
of despair, the spontaneity of which Margaret 
could not fail to observe. 

“ Your sister takes my resignation too much to 
heart. She would think less of it if she knew the 
reason.” 

“ But I do know the reason,” cried Lady Armine 
with crimsoning cheeks. “ And you may be mis- 
taken and those reasons do not exist,” 


i8o THE SWEETEST SOLACE 

“What, Lord Streybridge ! ” said Margaret 
with a flush of indignation, “ you have told Lady 
Armine about Mr. Gascoigne and — and ” 

“ I had no option,” interrupted Lord Strey- 
bridge with a little laugh. “ A friend of yours 
called this afternoon and told me what he thought 
about my conduct in this matter. Lady Armine, 
who entered the room without our knowing it, 
happened to overhear something he said, and so 
there was nothing to be done but to explain the 
whole position.” 

“ A friend of mine,” repeated Margaret. “ I 
have no friend who would venture to call on you. 
Except,” she added, as light dawned upon her — 
“ except, perhaps, Mr. Cox.” 

“ It was Mr. Cox,” replied Lord Streybridge. 
“ He was not very complimentary to me, and ut- 
terly misinterpreted my motive. Still, a good deal 
may be said from his point of view and I do 
implore you ” 

Margaret Francis was not destined to hear 
Lord Streybridge’s request, for there was a hurried 
footstep on the stairs without, the door burst open 
and Jessamine Francis, pale and breathless, with 
terror-stricken eyes, rushed into the room. 

“ Oh, Maggie, Maggie,” she cried, running to 
her sister. “ I know, I know. They have come 
to dismiss you from the school. And it’s all my 
fault. I did not know I was doing wrong, nor 

did he. And now — and now ” she buried 

her face on her sister’s shoulder in a paroxysm 
of grief and self-abasement. 


WOMANHOOD 


i8i 


“ Hush, hush, my darling,” Margaret answered 
softly, placing her strong arm round her sister’s 
slender waist, and caressing her, “ Lord Strey- 
bridge has not come for that purpose.” 

“ On the contrary,” said Lord Streybridge, 

“ so far from dismissing your sister. Lady Ar- 
mine Helstone and I, believing that your sister 
had some intention of deserting us, have come here 
specially to entreat her to stay on at Whitborough. 
Is it not so. Miss Francis? ” 

“ It is, indeed, dear,” Margaret replied. “ So 
now, dear heart, run along upstairs and wash 
away your tears.” 

The poor girl drew away from her sister, and 
looked with a half incredulous, half terrified ex- 
pression at the visitors, and Lady Armine realised 
with an aching heart that if Rex Gascoigne loved 
this beautiful, sensitive creature, it was only too 
natural. Margaret, without ado, led her sister 
from the room. 

“ I am sorry this should have happened,” she 
said, with some embarrassment, when she return- 
ed; “my sister is greatly attached to me, and she 
is, I am afraid, rather highly strung.” 

“ That is the more reason,” said Lord Strey- 
bridge, “ that her feelings should be considered 
above all things. To speak frankly. Miss Francis, 
my suggestion that you should leave Whitborough 
was prompted by evident desire to save your sister 
from any unhappiness. I thought it possible that 
Mr. Gascoigne was acting thoughtlessly, knowing 
with an upright lad Rex has always been. My 


1 82 THE SWEETEST SOLACE 


sister takes a different view. In such matters 
women see more clearly than men. And that is 
why we hurried here to-night to prevent you tak- 
ing any decisive steps.” 

“ You are both very generous. Still, I think it 
better that my plans should remain unaltered.” 

“But my dear young lady ” protested 

Lord Streybridge. 

“ Julian, will you go downstairs for a few min- 
utes,” said Lady Armine. “ I should like to 
speak to Miss Francis alone. There are some 
things that it is difficult to say before a man,” 
she continued, when Lord Streybridge had retired. 
“Tell me unreservedly, why you wish to go. Is 
it that you have misgivings about Rex Gascoigne’s 
sincerity ? ” 

The two women stood facing one another. 
Both with their good, straight eyes looking into 
the other’s face. 

“ I am sure Mr. Gascoigne would not designedly 
cause my little sister one moment’s anxiety. 
Doubtless he regards her simply as a child. But, 
of course, I know what I do know, and I have to 
think of her happiness.” 

“ I am asking you to think of it,” replied the 
other. “If Rex has shown your sister any atten- 
tion whatsoever — however trifling — be sure it is 
because he has grown to care for her, as well he 
might, for she is the most beautiful girl I have 
ever seen in my life, and I am sure worthy of any 
man’s love. So put aside your misgivings regard- 
ing Rex Gascoigne’s motives.” 


WOMANHOOD 


183 


“ The sister of a poor governess is not the 
proper wife for a man in Mr. Gascoigne’s station. 
Besides,” she added slowly, “ there is another ob- 
stacle.” 

“ Insuperable ? ” asked Lady Armine. 

Margaret was silent. If Rex Gascoigne was 
told fairly that over their father’s life there hung 
this strange mystery, and choose to accept the 
position and loved Jessamine enough to marry her, 
was it right to step in between them? The po- 
sition was most difficult. 

“ I see,” continued Lady Armine, “ that this 
obstacle is not insuperable. I ask you with a full 
heart not to go from Whitborough. Don’t bring 
unhappiness to these young people. I ought to 
tell you that I am not entirely disinterested in what 
I ask.” She paused, and then continued, with 
rising colour, “ I am sure you are a good woman 
and will not misinterpret what I am going to say. 
It has come to my ears lately that my name has 
been coupled with that of Mr. Gascoigne. It has 
been said that such a union would be the dearest 
wish of my brother’s heart, and that to ensure it 
he would not hesitate to drive your sister from 
the city.” 

“Jessamine has been talked about already!” 
cried Margaret piteously. 

“ She is not alone,” replied Lady Armine, sadly. 
“ Now, I know well enough that Mr. Gascoigne, 
though he esteems me as a very dear friend, cares 
no more for me than any other lady whom he 
knows intimately, and I ” she hesitated for 


1 84 THE SWEETEST SOLACE 

a moment, and Margaret naturally anticipated a 
similar disavowal, but Lady Armine continued — 
“ would never marry any man who did not love 
me. So I do entreat you, as one woman to anoth- 
er, if you can stay on here without jeoparding your 
sister’s peace of mind, that you will give con- 
sideration to a woman less fortunate than many, 
who, by reason of her position, has no Mr. Cox 
to protect her name from scandal, nor sister to com- 
fort her in the hour of sorrow.” 

“ She loves Rex herself, poor soul,” thought 
Margaret Francis, as she answered, “ I would do 
a good deal to meet your wishes.” 

The two women clasped hands and once again 
looked bravely in each other’s faces. 

“ Miss Francis has consented to hold her res- 
ignation up for a few days,” said Lady Armine, 
as they came down the stairs together and met 
Lord Streybridge in the hall. 

“ Ah, Armine, you are mote persuasive than I,” 
he answered pleasantly. “ I hope. Miss Francis, 
that is an earnest of that letter’s ultimate de- 
struction.” 

“ I am glad we went,” said Armine, nestling 
up to her brother as they drove back. “ How 
utterly and devotedly attached she seems to her 
sister. And how beautiful she looked.” 

“ Indeed, yes,” answered Lord Streybridge 
abstractedly, as he looked out of the carriage 
window. 

“ I am not surprised that Rex fell in love with 
her,” continued his sister in a low voice. 

‘‘ With her? Oh, I see. You mean the young- 
er of the sisters. I was thinking of the other,” 


CHAPTER XIX 

“the little angels’ house.” 

So soon as her visitors had gone Margaret went to 
her sister’s room, and with reassuring caresses 
wooed her back, if not to happiness, at least to 
equanimity. And on the next morning she asked, 
as it were by chance, to see the sketch of the Prior’s 
Tower. 

“ You did not do very much,” she remarked. 

Jessy blushed a little and answered, “ Mr. Gas- 
coigne happened to come into the Cloisters and he 
began to talk.” 

“ Indeed,” said Margaret gravely. “ Now, 
Jessy, I must ask you to be candid with me. Tell 
me, did he say anything in particular? Did he, 
in short, ask you something quite unexpected? ” 

Jessamine could not misinterpret the question, 
and her cheeks were rosy red as she answered: 
“ No, he asked me nothing — nothing what you 
mean, but ” 

“ But what? ” persisted her sister inexorably. 

“ Mrs. Petch came up as we were talking, and 
said something very sarcastic about the children’s 
games in the Quarry Walk. I was so frightened, 
for your sake, Maggie, that I insisted on coming 
home immediately. And before I could see you 
185 


1 86 THE SWEETEST SOLACE 


alone, Lord Streybridge arrived, and that was the 
reason why I was so upset’^ 

So Mrs. Fetch was Lord Streybridge’s infor- 
mant. She knew that lady by reputation. It 
behoved her to walk warily. She continued: 

“ And do you think, had Mrs. Fetch not come, 

that Mr. Gascoigne would have ” 

“ Oh, Maggie, Maggie,” cried the child, “ how 
can I tell 1” 

There was that in her voice and face which told 
her sister that she loved Rex Gascoigne, and had 
no certainty whatsoever that her love was returned. 
Margaret asked her to go to the children, and then 
tried to face the problem. If Rex did not care for 
her sister he must cease meeting her. If he did 
care for her he must know, before ever that ques- 
tion was asked, that, apart from poverty and a 
humble social position, there was far more serious 
detriment attached to Jessamine Francis. And 
how could he be told? She could not speak to 
him. To assume that his attentions to the child 
with whom he had played at Baroopna, were based 
upon anything more serious than mere friendship 
might be more unjust to Mr. Gascoigne and 
humiliating to both her sister and herself. Yet 
told he must be. Who, then, was to tell him? 
There was, in fact, but one person who could ap- 
proach Rex Gascoigne on such a subject. Accord- 
ingly, she hastened to Miss Blackiston’s home. 

“ You look pale, dear,” cried the sympathetic 
little lady. “ It’s those exasperating little chil- 
dren, I suppose,” 


THE LITTLE ANGELS’ HOUSE 187 

“ No, no. They’re dear little girls and I love 
them. Dear Miss Blackiston, I am sorely per- 
plexed. The long and short of it, Mr. Gas- 
coigne has, unknown to me, been meeting my sister 
in the Quarry Walk, and yesterday he followed 
her to the Cloisters.” 

Miss Blackiston threw up her hands In despair, 
and then felt a pang of remorse at the Involuntary 
gesture. Of course, Rex meant to ask the girl to 
marry him. After the Indignant manner In which 
he had repudiated any Intention of trifling with 
her, there could be no doubt of that. Now, Peggy 
had become very sincerely attached to the two 
girls,, but she could not disguise from herself that 
the union would involve the frustration of John 
Gascoigne’s dearest hopes. Still, poor Jessamine 
was not responsible for her pretty face, nor for 
Rex Gascoigne’s infatuation for the same, so she 
hastened to say: 

“ Well, my dear. It’s not your fault, nor that of 
your beautiful sister. And rest assured Rex would 
not compromise Jessamine unless he was prepared 
to ask her to marry him.” 

“ But he must not. I have come here to ask 
you, as the only friend I have, to entreat Mr. 
Gascoigne to leave my poor little sister alone. 
There are reasons ” — she paused, and Peggy 
Blackiston said encouragingly: 

“Yes, dear?” 

“ Oh, It Is a sad story, and hard enough to 
tell.” She waited for two or three seconds, and 
then screwing up her resolution, she continued: 


1 88 THE SWEETEST SOLACE 


“ We are not as other girls. You have heard 
me often talk of my father. He was the kindest, 
the most cheerful, and the most affectionate of 
men. And the fact that he never talked of his 
youth, if it struck me at all, made no impression. 
It was only when I came here, and people began to 
put searching questions to me regarding my father, 
his family, his birthplace, his life before he started 
sheep farming, and so on, that I began to realise 
how unlike he was to most of our neighbouring 
squatters, who talked so freely of their early lives. 
Throughout the house there was no single article 
which suggested an association with another life, 
except an old sporting novel, of which the fly-leaf 
had been torn out. When Mr. Gascoigne stayed 
with us my father encouraged him to talk of Whit- 
borough and the neighborhood. I thought little 
of it, and attributed my father’s interest to the 
natural desire of an elderly man to make a young 
fellow talk upon the subjects which interested 
him most. But when my father lay a-dying, and 
his poor brain was wandering in delirium, I over- 
heard him murmur something which never left my 
memory. Four years after, by a mere accident, 
I met Canon Marston in our Square garden, and 
he employed an expression which convinced me 
then and there that not only had my father in his 
youth been in England, but that he had been in 
Whitborough.” 

“May I ask what that expression was?” en- 
quired Miss Blackiston. 

“ ‘ The Admiral’s Binnacle.’ No one could 


THE LITTLE ANGELS’ HOUSE 189 

have used that expression unless he had been in 
Whitborough.” 

“ It is certainly improbable. Go on.” 

“Yes, as he lay there wandering, he said: 

Mother, dear, the Admiral’s Binnacle is lighted, 
and old madam will soon be following in her 
chair.’ Now in the Square in a line with the lamp 
there lived for over half a century, as no doubt 
you know, a lady named Mrs. Hambledon, who 
used to go every Sunday afternoon tO' the Cathe- 
dral in a sedan-chair. Surely, then, my father, in 
his childhood, had lived in the Square, and her 
chair held his childish imagination ; and yet I have 
discovered that within the last fifty years no one 
of our name has lived there. What, then, was 
my father’s story which made him live in exile 
under an assumed name, and how can a daughter 
of his marry anybody, much less a man in Mr. 
Gascoigne’s position, until that mystery be solved? 
Of one thing I am sure,” she added proudly; “ my 
father did nothing that was wrong.” 

Her voice rang out defiantly and the grey eyes 
flashed through the film of tears. 

“You are right,” said Peggy, thoughtfully. 
“ The leopard doesn’t change his spots because 
society has had to clip his claws. It is the belief 
in the unchangeableness in a man’s character that 
supports those who love him in the hour of dis- 
grace — as I have good reason to know myself.” 

Her voice dropped and her hands trembled in 
her lap. But she continued bravely: 

“ You see me, an old maid, a nice old maid, I 


190 THE SWEETEST SOLACE 

hope, and I always say it takes an exceptional wom- 
an to make a nice old maid. But I need not have 
been an old maid unless I liked. When my father 
died, my mother and I came to live in this little 
house. Within a few doors, in the very house in 
which you have your little school, there lived anoth- 
er widow — a Mrs. Carden, whose husband had 
been agent to the Gascoignes of Tremlett. She 
had an only son named Henry. He was a few 
years older than I was, and we were brought up al- 
most as brother and sister. He was of all lads the 
cheeriest, the handsomest, and the most tender, 
and — I loved him. His mother had slender 
means and sent him to the Cathedral school, where 
he was Canon Marston’s favourite pupil. On 
leaving school he was sent to Germany, for his 
mother had an opening for him in a merchant’s 
office, and it was imperative he should learn the 
language. In his holidays he taught me to love 
the national songs of Germany. So now you know 
why I was drawn to your sister Jessamine from 
the outset. During all these long years no one 
else had ever sung to me the song of the ‘ Three 
Students.’ But his was not the nature to be 
content with an office stool. He loved the out- 
of-door life, and he excelled in all manly sports. 
And so there was only one thing for it, he must 
go into the army. And into the army he went, 
and through interest got a commission in the same 
regiment as his great chum Edward Gascoigne, 
your friend Rex’s father. The regiment was quar- 
tered in England when he joined. I saw him con- 


THE LITTLE ANGELS’ HOUSE 19 1 

stantly. Though it may seem strange to you now, 
all sorts of men wished to marry me, but I would 
have none of them, because I loved Henry Carden. 
And ah ! dear Margaret, there was only one thing 
betwixt me and happiness: Henry Carden did 
not love me, nor, indeed, I am proud to say, ever 
suspected my love for him. In due course the 
regiment went to India, and soon after his mother 
died. Three or four years passed, and then the 
news came that Ned Gascoigne was engaged to 
be married to a very beautiful girl to whom, so 
garrison gossip affirmed, poor Henry Carden was 
himself attached. Well, that was bad enough, but 
worse, far worse, was to follow. Ah I shall I 
ever forget that morning when that detestable 
woman, Alicia Marston, came across, with her 
shallow eyes gleaming with malignant triumph, 
and told me that Henry Carden bad been tried by 
court-martial for dishonourable conduct and had 
been cashiered.” 

“Cashiered — that is a military punishment, is 
it not?” asked Margaret, who had followed the 
story with breathless interest. 

“ It is, indeed,” replied her friend bitterly. 

“ Rather would you call it execution; for in the 
social sense the culprit is thereafter dead. He . 
walks the earth under a ban that never lifts — the 
friends of a lifetime pass him by in the streets. 
And yet, hard as was the punishment, it was no 
more than adequate to the offence with which 
Henry Carden was charged.” 


192 THE SWEETEST SOLACE 

“What had he done?” asked the girl in an 
awe-struck voice. 

“ A few months after the Ossiri campaign — in 
which both he and Edward Gascoigne had served 
with some distinction — a bazaar-keeper at 
Lahore, who was suspected of having tampered 
with some secret-service correspondence, had his 
house raided by order of the Indian Government. 
Amongst his effects was found an emerald which 
was recognised as having been stolen from an 
Afghan nobleman some time before. The bazaar- 
keeper was taxed with complicity. He at once 
produced his books and proved that the stone had 
been pledged a few weeks before by an English 
officer as security for a small loan. That officer 
was Henry Carden. He was at once placed under 
arrest and asked for an explanation. He said he 
had found the stone under the herbage of a disused 
well near Rawal Pindi. He admitted that 
he thought the stone was probably loot hidden 
during the mutiny, or after some frontier expe- 
dition. Being pressed for money, pending the 
result of a horse race, he had raised some money 
on the stone, intending to restore it to the authori- 
ties after the race was over. The smallness of the 
loan showed that it was of a temporary nature. 
This fact, and his excellent record as an officer, 
turn.ed the scale, and he got off with a severe 
reprimand. A few weeks after a private in his 
regiment came forward and traversed the whole 
statement. He said the stone had been originally 
stolen by a chum of his — also a private — 


THE LITTLE ANGELS’ HOUSE 193 

named, if I remember rightly, Blything, who hid 
it in a well, behind the stones, and took bearings, 
and no man who did not know those bearings 
could have found it. This man Blything, feeling 
a presentiment of coming death the evening be- 
fore the battle, gave his crony the paper with the 
measurements, asking him to sell the emerald and 
send the proceeds tO' his wife in England. Bly- 
thing was killed, sure enough, next day, but not 
before he had seen his friend shot down. This 
other was hit, but not mortally, and so soon as 
he was convalescent he returned to Rawal Pindi, 
whither the regiment had gone, and went to the 
well with the paper. The stone had already been 
abstracted. Hearing that Captain Carden had 
lately got into a scrape about a jewel found in a 
well near Rawal Pindi, he made enquiries. It 
then transpired that after the fight was over the 
dying man was seen lying in Captain Carden’s 
arms, whispering very earnestly in his ear, and the 
obvious presumption was that having, as he be- 
lieved, seen his friend killed, the wretched man, 
whether from motives of contrition or not, con- 
fessed the guilty secret to Harry Cardep. 

“ Harry Carden was re-arrested, confronted 
with the witness and pleaded — guilty. In con- 
sideration of his fine services he did not suffer im- 
prisonment, but he was cashiered, and left India 
a ruined man. He was seen afterwards by some 
old friend gold mining in California, but was 
drowned with many others when the great dam 
broke and flooded the Tonora valley. He had 
13 


194 


THE SWEETEST SOLACE 


stayed the previous day in a hotel. His name, for 
he scorned to change it, was found in his hand» 
writing in the book in which the guests entered their 
names, and which was still decipherable after the 
flood, and his body, battered and swollen, was sub- 
sequently discovered miles down the stream with 
papers upon it which proved the identity beyond all 
question; at least, so the local authorities con- 
tended. I have always thought the evidence by 
which identity is assumed in such disasters is very 
unconvincing; but as poor Harry Carden was never 
seen or heard of again, there must be little doubt 
that he perished with the rest. And that, Mar- 
garet Francis, is the story of the man I loved,” 
and she added softly, “ have ever loved and still 
love. I have told it to you, because I wish you 
to be of brave heart regarding your father. For 
though the evidence against Harry Carden was 
irrefutable, and though he pleaded guilty, I have 
never been able to believe that he took that emerald 
feloniously. In just the same way your father 
might have been overwhelmed by some terrible 
conjunction of circumstances. Besides, you base 
all your misgivings upon the supposed suppression 
of his real name. The name of Francis may not 
be found in old directories, but that proves little. 
His parents might have rented a furnished house 
in the Square. He would still have seen the 
lighting of the Admiral’s Binnacle.” 

“ I can scarcely think it probable,” replied Mar- 
garet sadly. “ Moreover, after his thoughts had 
drifted back to the return of old madam in her 


THE LITTLE ANGELS’ HOUSE 195 

chair, he went on : ‘ I wonder, mother, if she liked 
my singing this afternoon, for when someone said 
the other day that I sang as sweetly as the birds 
in Barkston Wood, she answered, “No, no; let us 
say like the angels, for there are cherubim on both 
sides of that threshold,” ’ and he gave a little child- 
ish, contented laugh. Then his voice died away, 
and the veil dropped once again. What his last 
words meant I cannot think, except that as a child 
he sang like an angel. But surely his reference to 
the old lady who went each Sunday to the Cathe- 
dral and to her pleasure h\ his singing, proves 
conclusively that Henry Francis in his boyhood 
sang in the choir of Whitborough Cathedral. 
Now I have seen the names of all the boys who 
sang in the choir during the years of my father’s 
boyhood, and his name is not amongst them. 
What am I to believe ? ” 

She looked up at Peggy Blackiston, and ob- 
served that her friend, pale and trembling, was 
supporting herself by the mantelpiece. Then 
Margaret Blackiston turned and kissed the girl 
very passionately. 

“ It was God’s hand that led you to Gascoigne 
Square, and brought us together, you, his daughter, 
and I, the woman who loved him, and in memory 
of whom, perchance, he named you. There can be 
no doubt that Henry Carden was not drowned in 
the great flood, for there could not have been two 
boys who sang in the Cathedral whilst Mrs. Ham- 
bledon still lived, and, above all, who lived in the 
‘ House of the Little Angels,’ for by that name 


196 THE SWEETEST SOLACE 

was your present house known when I was a little 
girl. On each side of the semi-circular lantern 
window above the front door were the carved 
heads and wings of two little gilt cherubim. They 
had been placed there by the first tenant of the 
house, which was henceforth known in the Square 
as ‘ the House of the Little Angels.’ The house 
was sold after Mrs. Carden died, and the new* 
comer lost two little children whom he was wont to 
call his own little angels. The association pained 
him sorely, so he had the whole window removed 
and the present one placed in its stead, and in 
course of time tlic name fell into desuetude. But 
there can be no doubt — none whatever. That 
is why your father loved Rex, her son, my dear, 
her son.” 

There was a little catch of hopelessness in 
Peggy’s voice. She was the best of women; she 
never wavered in her love for Henry Carden — 
yet had he preferred another. 

But the cadence of her voice was lost upon Mar- 
garet. 

“ Can it be true! ” she murmured. “ Oh, my 
poor father, and my own darling Jessy! Are 
you sure. Miss Blackiston, that you may not be 
making some strange mistake?” 

“That can be decided — and at once,” an- 
swered Miss Blackiston. “ Henry Carden was 
Canon Marston’s favourite pupil. When he left 
school Canon Marston gave him a copy of George 
Herbert’s poems, and later on, his sword. When 
the catastrophe happened these presents were sent 


“THE HOUSE OF THE LITTLE 197 

back to Canon Marston without any letter, but on 
the fly-leaf of the book were some lines in his 
handwriting, written to reassure his old friend 
that he had still something to live for. I will 
send you across for this book, but do not open it 
until you have me by your side.” 

Miss Blackiston sat down and wrote a note 
asking for the loan of that edition of George Her- 
bert which he knew she loved. Margaret, with 
beating heart, took the note across. The old 
gentleman read the note. 

“ You must take care of it. Miss Francis,” he 
said, unlocking a bookshelf. “ It belonged to an 
old pupil of mine whom I loved very dearly. 
That was his sword above the fireplace. Poor 
boy!” 

He handed the girl the morocco-bound volume, 
and she bore it away with reverent hands. Her 
heart yearned to learn the truth, but she was true 
to her promise, and brought it back unopened to 
her friend. 

Side by side with arms entwined they twain 
knelt by the table and slowly opened the book at 
the fly-leaf. 

Then Margaret gave a passionate sob, and 
clung tighter to Peggy Blackiston, for below the 
original inscription, Henrico Francisco Carden 
hunc lihrum dono dedit Carolus Marston,^* in the 
strong, clear writing which, despite the interval 
of years, she recognised as that of her father, there 
ran the words, taken from one of George Herbert’s 
poems : 


198 THE SWEETEST SOLACE 


“Oh help, my God! let not their plot 
Kill them and me 
And also Thee, 

Who art my life: dissolve the knot. 

As the Sunne scatters by his light 
All the rebellions of the night. 

Then shall those powers which work for grief 
Enter Thy pay. 

And day by day 
Labour Thy praise and my relief 
With care and courage building me 
Till I reach heaven and, much more, Thee.” 


CHAPTER XX 


TOO LATE 

“Oh, my child,’* cried Peggy Blackiston 
piteously, “what can I do for you?” 

But the girl beside her made no answer. She 
walked to the window and her eyes were fixed 
upon the old lamp, the Admiral’s Binnacle — the 
light that had so mysteriously guided her to cer- 
tainty and sorrow. As she stood there in this 
reverie of misery there passed before her eyes the 
story of her father’s life. What utter loneliness 
had been his ! A loneliness so intolerable that he, 
the strongest and least dependent of men, had 
seized the opportunity of his supposed death to 
seek a new life in another world. A loneliness so 
intolerable that even then he was fain to ask 
another to share the burden, of his solitude. She 
remembered that he had never mentioned their 
mother’s name except in terms of the deepest rev- 
erence and gratitude; although she could see now 
that, neither by education nor experience, could she 
have been in intellectual communion with him. 
But despite his story, which Margaret knew well 
he would not withhold, she had given him com- 
panionship, and for that alone Henry Francis had 
never ceased to feel the deepest gratitude. And 
he had loved another in the past. That, then, 

199 


200 


THE SWEETEST SOLACE 


was the reason why he had shown such tender- 
ness to Mr. Gascoigne. He was her son. Mr. 
Gascoigne ! The sudden incursion of Rex Gas- 
coigne into her thoughts roused her from abstrac- 
tion and reminded her of the primary object of her 
visit that morning to Miss Blackiston. 

“ Oh, my child, what can I do for you? ” 

She turned to her friend and said, “ You can 
do that which I have already asked you to do. 
You can implore Rex Gascoigne not to see my 
sister. You must tell him I am responsible for 
Jessamine’s happiness. Even if he does desire 
to marry her — she is only eighteen, and I do not 
wish her to engage herself to anyone until she is 
of an age to judge wisely for herself. That is a 
perfectly good reason, and he must respect it. 
He will, if you put it to him, as I have said. That 
will give me time to think, time to act — time 

to ” she paused and with a quick light in her 

grey eyes she continued, “ Miss Blackiston, do you 
remember the name of that private soldier whose 
evidence led to my father’s ruin?” 

“ I do not,” replied Peggy. “ I might find 
out; perhaps John Gascoigne may remember. 
But oh ! for pity’s sake do not build your hopes 
on that. He may have died long since. And if 
haply he lives surely he would only cover his origi- 
nal lie with others. Rather let me see Rex at 
once and tell him what you say. Every day for 
an hour or so after lunch he and his uncle discuss 
the news of the day over their pipes. I will call 


TOO LATE 


201 


and see him to-day. I will do all I can for you, 
for remember, I loved your father.” 

Miss Blackiston watched the girl walk slowly 
home and she braced herself for the task she had 
undertaken. 

So soon as she had gone through the formality 
of looking at her lunch, she hastened to Gascoigne 
House, and asked to see Rex for one moment in 
the hall. 

In a few seconds Admiral Gascoigne came down 
the stairs. 

“ Rex is out,” he said curtly. “We were dis- 
cussing an article in to-day’s Times on Naval Re- 
serves. He was sitting in the window looking 
into the Square. Suddenly, just as I was in the 
middle of a sentence, he said, ‘ Excuse me one 
moment,’ and without another word left the room 
and the house. Margaret Blackiston, a pretty 
face is the very devil ! ” 

“ You didn’t always think so, John,” she re- 
plied, and hastened away. 

She hurried tO' No. 19. Miss Jessamine had 
gone out half an hour ago with her sketch-book. 

“ The Cloisters ! ” cried Miss Blackiston with 
drooping heart. Thither she betook herself. 

She entered the Cloisters, and looked down the 
line of open arches. Then she cried with ex- 
ceeding sorrow, “ Too late! ” In one of the arch- 
ways sat Jessamine Francis, beside her stood Rex 
Gascoigne. He seemed to be holding her hand, 
but at the sound of her footsteps they broke asun- 
der, She turned and left the Cloisters, 


202 THE SWEETEST SOLACE 


It was indeed too late. 

Notwithstanding the trials and tribulations of 
the previous day, Jessamine felt that whatever 
trials Fate might have in store for her, neither 
time nor destiny could ever rob her of the sweet 
memories of the last few weeks. But ah I how 
groundless were Margaret’s apprehensions. Mr. 
Gascoigne had certainly met her in the Quarry 
Walk, but then, he was so fond of the children, 
and, indeed, was only too apt to regard herself 
as a child. He admitted as much in the Cloisters 
when he said he was only just beginning to realise 
that she was approaching womanhood. 

Was it conceivable that Mr. Gascoigne, so hand- 
some, so accomplished, so eagerly sought after by 
half the county, could entertain any thoughts but 
those of mere friendship for the little girl with 
whom he had played amidst the wattle-trees at 
Baroopna? She, however, could not forget him, 
the first man who had made her heart beat faster, 
the first man whose tender voice kept ringing in 
her ears through the still watches of the night. 
Nought, indeed, did she need to remind her of 
Rex Gascoigne. Yet with a woman’s desire to 
hug and cuddle her sweet sorrow she resolved to 
finish the sketch she had begun on the previous 
day, and the accomplishment of which had been 
so rudely checked. And lest there could be any 
possibility of exciting Margaret’s strictures she 
would go immediately after their early dinner 
when, as Mr. Gascoigne had told her, he always 
sat for an hour with his uncle. She left the room 


TOO LATE 


203 

and was soon arranging her easel beneath the arch 
that faced the Prior’s Tower. 

Scarcely had she opened her paint-box than she 
heard the well-known footsteps, the footsteps 
that made her little heart beat quicker. Oh, 
why had he come! She remembered that he was 
beginning to recognise that she was no longer a 
child. Her hair was up, she would screw her 
courage to an equal altitude. So, without turning 
her head, she awaited the greeting that was not 
long withheld. 

“ Ah I So we are finishing the sketch I The 
chiaroscuro still obliges with punctuality, and the 
Chapter House cat — no, I see with regret the cat 
has not recognised the claims of art.” 

“ He has, I presume, other duties and attends 
to them. By the way, I always understood that 
you spent this hour with your uncle talking over 
the news of the day.” 

“So we do,” replied Rex; “to-day he did the 
talking. I was facing a national problem and, in- 
cidentally, an open window. I saw you come out 
of your house, so I hopped up and followed. The 
problem remains unsolved.” 

“ Do you think the problem of your sudden 
departure will remain unsolved?” she asked 
nervously. 

“ My uncle may entertain a solution.” 

“Oh, what will he say?” cried Jessamine. 

“ I shall hear on my return, you may be sure,” 
replied Rex, with an uneasy laugh. “ In the 
meantime, how is the sketch getting on?” 


204 the sweetest SOLACE 

“ It will lack the colouring I desired.” 

“ Then it will resemble the artist who is paint- 
ing it. How pale you look. And yesterday we 
agreed that you had absorbed all the radiance of 
your native land.” 

“ I hadn’t heard Mrs. Fetch laugh then. And 
I had rather a bad night. So I thought I would 
take a quiet day and come here and finish the 
sketch.” 

‘‘ Will you give it to me when it is finished? ” 

“ Oh yes, if you like,” replied Jessy with a 
fine assumption of carelessness. Whatever might 
be the deeper feelings in her heart she would take 
good care that he should never guess them,. “ It 
will remind you of me — sometimes.” 

“ I need nothing to remind myself of you. 
How your hand is trembling. Your architectural 
lines will become quite Moorish in their sustained 
wobbliness. Shall I guide it? I should like to 
guide that little hand.” 

Rex put out his own hand and took that which 
he desired to guide. He made no immediate ef- 
fort to do so; on the contrary, he held it motion- 
less. Then suddenly they heard someone enter- 
ing the Cloisters and Jessamine sprang up and 
drew her hand away. The step softly receded. 

“ For heaven’s sake leave me, Mr. Gascoigne 
— Rex. You hear what I say! Do have pity on 
me. I am watched and spied on. It is not fair 
' — it is not fair! You will go, won’t you? Why 
don’t you answer me?” she cried, as he stood 
mute before her. 


TOO LATE 


205 


“ I came to ask a question, not to give an an- 
swer. Can you guess, Jessy, dear little Jessy, 
what that question might be? ” 

“ Yes, I think I can guess,” she answered 
gently. “But — ^ — ” she stopped suddenly, and 
remembering what had happened in the week — 
the sudden apparition of the glum Lord Strey- 
bridge, the unexpected incursion of Mrs. Fetch. 
“ Oh, Mr. Gascoigne, you are asking me that 
question out of consideration. Besides — ^ — ” she 
remembered the gravity with which Margaret had 
pressed her as to their last meeting. Margaret 
seemed to have some causes for anxiety which were 
not apparent to her, and the reason whereof she 
could only vaguely surmise. 

“ Besides what? ” cried Rex. 

“ I cannot give you any answer until I have seen 
my sister.” 

“ Your sister, why, what has she to do with the 
promptings of your own heart?” 

“ She is the guardian of my life and happiness,” 
replied Jessamine simply. “ Oh, Rex, I must see 
her, and talk to her; do not press me now.” 

“ Well, then, I shall come here to-morrow,” 
protested Rex. 

“Not here, Rex. Other people love the Clois- 
ters besides ourselves.” 

“Then the Quarry Walk — under the tree 
where we played ‘ Jinks.’ Yes, the ‘ Jinks ’ tree 
to-morrow at half-past three.” 

“ I will come, dear; but oh, Rex,” she added 
as she pressed his hand, “ my heart is full of mis- 
givings.” 


CHAPTER XXI 


PRESSURE 

The sight of Lady Armine’s distress had tem- 
pered in no small degree Benjamin Cox’s triumph. 
Still, he had done his duty and Lord Streybridge 
would be a little less arbitrary in his treat- 
ment of the poor schoolmistress, though, no doubt, 
the latter would never know the cause of his mod- 
eration. In which surmise Benjamin Cox was, 
of course, wrong — for on his going round to 
Gascoigne Square at noon the following day, 
Margaret ran to him and cried : 

“ Oh, how brave and good you are ! ” 

“ Hulloh, Maggie, what’s all this about? ” ex- 
claimed the astonished little squatter. 

“ Lord Streybridge came here last night and 
told me of your visit to Helstone Towers and all 
you said to him.” 

“ Not all, I reckon,” exclaimed Cox with a grin. 
“And so he came here, did he, to take it out of 
you, I suppose.” 

“ Oh no, he did not come for that purpose. He 
came to ask me to stay on here.” 

“ He did,” replied Cox with a grin of triumph. 
“ Well, I hope we will hear no more of going away 
for the present.” 


206 


PRESSURE 


207 

“ I cannot say,” replied Margaret wearily. “ I 
do not know that I am doing right in staying.” 

“ Well, Maggie, you know your own business 
best. But if you girls leave Whitborough, for 
God’s sake come back with me to Garlonga. 

“For years I have been aching to see the old 
country once again before I died and now I’m just 
sick to get back home again, to sit once again in 
the saddle and feel a good horse moving under 
you, smooth as oil, and have the soft south wind 
a-fanning o’ your cheek. It’s all very well having 
a cigar in the smoke-room of a hotel, but it isn’t 
like the mid-day pipe, when you’re a bit spent with 
the morning’s work and you’re sitting on a log 
watching the wallabies gambolling in the scrub or 
a buck ’possum scooting up the trees. I just want 
to wait in the old country to see if that copper 
scheme comes to anything. If it does. I’ll claim 
my option and put that money of yours in it. 
What are you getting now? ” 

“ I’m getting four per cent.,” said Maggie, 
with a slight feeling of uneasiness. 

“ Four per cent. — in a bank. You must draw 
that money out to-day, my lass. A bank that 
pays four per cent, on their deposits must be pretty 
nigh bust.” 

“ It is not exactly a bank. You see, when I got 
your letter and the cheque I didn’t know into 
which bank I should put it. So I consulted my 
friend. Miss Blackiston. She wished to get me 
high interest, of course, and she went and con- 
sulted several bank managers, and they offered 


208 THE SWEETEST SOLACE 


what she thought such small interest that, without 
my knowledge, she took the money to her solici- 
tor, Mr. Swannick, and he has invested the money 
and gives me four per cent.” 

“ Her solicitor, eh ! I don’t quite know that I 
like that.” Ben Cox walked up and down the 
room for some moments without speaking. 
“ There are lawyers and lawyers. Most of ’em 
are a good deal better than their neighbours be- 
cause they have temptations which we haven’t, and 
don’t give way to ’em, but when you do find a law- 
yer who’s a rogue, he can do more harm than the 
rest of us, because, as I say, he has greater oppor- 
tunities.” 

“ I am sure Mr. Swannick is the soul of honour. 
Why, Miss Blackiston told me that he was co- 
trustee with Admiral Gascoigne for her marriage 
settlement and by this time he will hold £3,000 
that was to be paid off a mortgage.” 

Ben Cox softly whistled and then continued, 
“ Have you signed any documents or seen any 
papers yet? ” 

“ Oh no, I left the matter entirely in Mr. Swan- 
nick’s hands. Miss Blackiston will tell you how 
good and generous he is.” 

“ My dear child, what an amiable lady like 
Miss Blackiston thinks ain’t worth a rushlight. 
Can you tell me of any man who could give me 
a wrinkle or two about this Mr. Swannick?” 

Margaret thought a minute and answered, 
“ Perhaps Canon Marston could, but he might 
think we were taking a liberty.” 


PRESSURE 


209 


“ Pooh, my dear. I ain’t such a backwoods- 
man as you secern to* think. I’ll soon put that 
straight.” He strode to the writing-table and in 
due course and with considerable effort he suc- 
ceeded in composing the following missive : 

“ Mr. Benjamin Cox, frend and guargian of 
Miss Francis, prescence his complemence to Can- 
non Marston and I should be glad of a few words 
with you on a mater concerning Miss Francises 
welfare.” 

Without showing this to Margaret, he placed it 
in an envelope and asked the servant to wait for 
an answer, and in a few minutes the answer came 
that Canon Marston would be very happy to see 
Mr. Cox. * 

The Canon was still studying this effort of polite 
correspondence, when the writer thereof, whose 
name he remembered as that of the “ friend in 
need,” entered the library. 

Cox was not accustomed to beat about the bush, 
so he forthwith enquired: 

“ Do you know a lawyer in the City, Swannick 
by name? ” 

“ Yes, I know him,” replied the Canon with an 
involuntary glance towards the drawer wherein 
General Gascoigne’s package still reposed. 

“ Well,” said Cox, “ tell me, is he an honest 
man? ” 

“ Good gracious. Sir, why do you ask? ” 

So Benjamin Cox briefly explained the position 
and his own responsibility in the matter. 


14 


210 


THE SWEETEST SOLACE 


“ I know nothing against Mr. Swannick’s hon- 
esty,” said the Canon with some hesitation. 

“ I see, you won’t say he’s dishonest. But had 
you not disliked the man you would have said he 
is honest,” said the illiterate colonial, who could 
at least read the book of human nature. “ You 
do know something. If you don’t want to tell 
I’ll go.” 

“ Don’t go. The simple fact is, Swannick was 
managing clerk to an old solicitor in the City 
named Sefton, and was promoted to a partnership 
because Mr. Sefton’s health broke down before his 
only son was out of his articles. Some time after 
the old gentleman’s death Robert, who had in the 
meantime been admitted, dissolved the partnership. 
And though I have never known Robert breathe 
a word against his former partner, I have reason to 
think Swannick managed to lure away more of the 
old firm’s clients than was quite fair.” 

“ Then he ain’t honourable,” persisted Cox. 

“ I don’t say so,” cried the Canon piteously. 

“ Thank you, sir. I’ll go and see him about the 
money at once.” And without another word the 
impetuous little man walked across the Square to 
Swannick’s office. 

The hall door happened to be open, as was also 
that of Mr. Swannick’s room. Cox walked 
straight into the latter and saw a big man at a 
writing-table. Before the solicitor had time to ask 
him his business Cox opened fire. 

“ Mr. Swannick, eh? ” 


PRESSURE 21 1 

‘‘ I am Mr. Swannick — but you see I am en- 
gaged.” 

“ I won’t keep you a minute — ' — ” 

“ I am expecting a gentleman from London this 
afternoon and I am preparing the papers now,” 
replied Swannick, eyeing his quaint-looking visitor 
with curiosity. 

“ The matter I’ve come about won’t take ten 
minutes. I only want a plain answer to a plain 
question.” 

“ Point of law, eh?” replied Swannick affably. 
“ Whom may I have the pleasure of addressing? ” 

“ My name is Benjamin Cox, and I don’t calcu- 
late there is to be much pleasure on either side, for 
I haven’t come about a point of law but to ask you 
this question. Some weeks ago you received a 
sum of money, amounting to seventeen hundred 
odd pounds, from Miss Blackiston on behalf of a 
young lady who keeps a school next door. May I 
ask you if that money can be realised in case 
Miss Francis should want the cash at a moment’s 
notice? ” 

“ Certainly not,” replied Swannick. “ It is in- 
vested.” 

“ In what? ” asked Cox. 

“ What has that got to do with you sir,” replied 
the lawyer shortly. “ May I ask what locus 
standi have you ? ” 

“ I don’t know what them words means, but 
I’m guargian to the two Miss Francis’. You have 
merely to answer my question — where’s the 
money? ” 


212 


THE SWEETEST SOLACE 


“ If that’s all you want to know you’re welcome 
to the intelligence. It is invested in a mortgage 
bearing interest at the rate of four per cent. Can 
you find a better investment than land? ” 

“ I hope to,” replied Cox. “ In what is the cash 
invested? ” 

“ I decline to disclose my business arrangements 
to complete strangers.” 

“ I decline to allow my girls’ money to be placed 
in the hands of complete strangers without know- 
ing the nature of the security.” 

“ Your girls ! Are you, may I ask, their legally 
appointed guardian?” enquired Swannick with a 
hard glint in his eye. 

Ben Cox was for once at a loss for a reply. He 
had received no legal mandate, and had protected 
the . interests of these two children out of sheer 
goodness of heart. 

“ I see you’re nothing of the sort,” continued 
Swannick. “ I can recognise no authority but that 
of Miss Francis herself. Good morning.” 

“ There’s some hanky-panky about that money,” 
said Cox as he bounced out. He was beside him- 
self with anger, but his brain worked clearly. At 
once he returned to the Imperial Hotel, ascertained 
the professional address of Robert Sefton and 
within a very few minutes was shown into that 
gentleman’s office. 

It would be impossible to conceive a greater 
contrast to his former partner than Robert Sefton 
presented. He seemed to Cox to be a man of 
about forty, clean shaven, with the exception of 


PRESSURE 


213 


well-trimmed whiskers, square of jaw, but mild of 
eye, with an extremely kind expression of face. 
He was dressed in a black morning coat and dark 
grey trousers. A tall hat hung upon a peg, for 
he was the last solicitor in Whitborough to retain 
this professional head covering. He looked. In- 
deed, the perfect professional man — rounded, 
polished, and bevel-edged. Above the fireplace 
hung an engraving of his grandfather, the founder 
of the firm, over his writing-table that of his 
father, Robert II. They, too, had worn tall hats. 
Robert Sefton, in short, was of the order that 
changeth not' — he had, moreover, a quaint cour- 
tesy of manner that attracted the rough squatter 
at the outset and the latter told his story with his 
usual directness. 

Mr. Robert Sefton listened to him without 
interruption. Then, when Cox had finished, he 
said, “ You can’t get a written order from the 
young lady? ” 

“ No. You see, she’d think It a reflection upon 
her friend. Miss Blackiston.” 

“ Then I’m afraid I can’t do anything for you. 
This sort of thing is out of my line. I am only 
a family solicitor. In any case, I should be re- 
luctant to act, for Mr. Swannick was once my part- 
ner.” 

“Why did you split?” asked Cox with an un- 
holy cock In his solitary eye. 

“ Purely private matters,” answered the solici- 
tor with a gentle laugh. 

“ In other words, you found out some roguery,” 


214 the sweetest solace 

said the uncompromising Cox. “ For God’s sake, 
sir, stand by me. That man’s a scoundrel for all 
his rosy mug. This £1,700 is all these poor chil- 
dren have of their own. There’s only one man 
who can get it back for them and that’s you. 
Stand by me to-day.” 

Sefton looked at the eager, strenuous face. He 
was touched at the rough man’s love for the two 
orphaned girls. “ Very well, I will,” he answered. 
“ Come here this afternoon about six.” 

Sefton walked to Swannick’s office and sent in 
his name. Swannick received him at once, but 
looked grim enough when his old partner came in. 
There was no exchange of amenities. Sefton 
said curtly, “ You know well enough what I’ve 
come about. You must hand back the money to 
these girls or produce the security for me to in- 
spect.” 

“Do you mistrust me?” said Swannick bit- 
terly. 

“ Look here, Thomas Swannick,” replied Sefton 
quietly. “ Let’s understand one another. It’s 
just sixteen years ago since you passed on to a 
bookmaker named Andrew Trodd a cheque made 
payable to you but which was really the property 
of the firm. The cheque was duly met, but owing 
to my discovering its existence, there was a delay. 
No doubt the bookmaker had his suspicions. I 
forebore to take proceedings. And since we sep- 
arated have I not played the game fair? You 
took from me every client you could ; you have held 
me up to universal ridicule as a sanctimonious 


PRESSURE 


215 


humbug and I have not retaliated. Now these 
girls are orphans. This money represents all they 
possess. And either they are going to get it back 
or I am going to inspect the security.” 

“ I have not arranged the mortgage yet,” said 
Swannick fiercely. 

“ Then the money ought to be intact in the 
bank. You can either show me your professional 
pass-book or give me an outline of the proposed 
security.” 

“ I decline to recognise your right to interfere,” 
retorted Swannick, “ unless you are properly in- 
structed by Miss Francis herself. She has only 
to express a wish and she shall have every penny 
back.” 

“You know well that she cannot express a 
wish without offending Miss Blackiston. But she 
shall have the money back and this afternoon, 
too. I shall call again about 5.30, so as to give 
you time to go to the bank, if you so desire. If 
the £1,700 is not forthcoming I shall acquaint 
Miss Blackiston with the true cause of our separa- 
tion, and if, in the face of that knowledge, she does 
not hasten to repair the wrong she has unwittingly 
done these two girls, I shall see if other means 
cannot be found to extract that money. Five- 
thirty, mind — not a minute later.” 

If Swannick was agitated at Cox’s visit, the 
threats of Robert Sefton reduced him to the state 
of momentary collapse. The reference to that 
horrible affair with Andrew Trodd was bad 
enough, but that his former dishonesty should be 


2i6 the sweetest SOLACE 


disclosed to one of his most loyal and reticent 
clients, meant Immediate ruin; and he knew only 
too well that Robert Sefton would be as good as 
his word. For Sefton was that very common 
product, a conscientious, high-minded solicitor, 
than whom no man under God’s wide sky does 
more good to the body politic or gets less recogni- 
tion for It. The cheap sneer on “ the boards,” the 
gibes of the comic journalist, the satire of the 
draughtsman, are too frequently the tributes which 
art, literature, and the drama pay to one branch of 
the legal calling, and surely no profession less de- 
serves contumacy. They protect us in the conduct 
of our daily lives ; they guard the interests of those 
we leave behind. There Is no tradition more 
noble than that of the average firm of family solic- 
itors. But just as among bookmakers (who, as a 
class, are a great deal more punctilious In their 
monetary transactions than are the men who bet 
with them), there can be found an occasional 
Trodd, so amongst solicitors, now and again a 
Swannick betrays his trust. And how great that 
betrayal had been he alone knew, though It was 
clear both Cox and Sefton had a shrewd suspicion. 

He sat in his chair with staring eyes and rum- 
pled hair, softly cursing the one-eyed man with 
that Ill-omened scar who had declared war so un- 
expectedly and had with such celerity opened the 
campaign. About three there was a ring at the 
bell and Harris announced the arrival of the man 
whom his employer had expected from London. 
It was the unfortunate Mr. Sheen, whose debt 


PRESSURE 


217 


to the trustees of Miss Blackiston’s settlement had 
been unexpectedly called in. Swannick rushed to 
the glass, rearranged his hair. He had recovered 
his usual smile and his eyes beamed cheerfully as 
the unlucky mortgagor entered the room. 

“ You might have taken a cheque, Mr. Swan- 
nick,” the latter said bitterly. 

“ I have my duties towards my clients; besides, 
had you merely sent a cheque by post, I should 
not have had the pleasure of meeting you per- 
sonally.” 

Mr. Sheen was in no humour for pleasantry. 
He produced a fat package of Bank of England 
notes, which he handed to Swannick. The latter 
counted them and called Harris and the clerk 
counted them carefully. The £3,000 were there 
to a farthing. Swannick opened a safe which 
stood against the wall on a line with the big table, 
and he placed the roll on one of the shelves. 

“ Arrange the papers, if you please, Mr. Harris, 
and now hand Mr. Sheen his title deeds, and ask 
him to sign the receipt for them. Thank you, 
Mr. Sheen,” said Swannick. 

“ And thank you,” replied the debtor, “ and I 
can only hope if ever you are pressed for money 
you will receive the same treatment at the hands 
of your creditors as I have had to-day.” 

Swannick gave a sardonic grin and replied that 
he had no intention of being pressed for money, 
but his face clouded so soon as the door closed. 

Half-past five struck and punctual to the tick 
Robert Sefton arrived. 


2i8 


THE SWEETEST SOLACE 


‘ Here’s the money, Mr. Sefton,” said Swan- 
nick, producing £1,700 in Bank of England notes. 
“You had better count ’em, you know,” he added 
with a sneer. 

Sefton made no answer. But he did count the 
notes. 

“ I knew you’d manage it,” said the triumph- 
ant Cox half an hour later, “ though I am pretty 
sure he hadn’t the money when I called. I won- 
der where he got it from.” 

“ That’s just what I’ve been thinking,” answered 
Sefton thoughtfully. 


CHAPTER XXII 


THE ANSWER 

As Jessamine walked home she felt in the seventh 
heaven, for Rex loved her. But, none the less, 
she could not overcome the feelings of apprehen- 
sion which assailed her, for she knew not if she 
could give her lover the answer for which he 
pleaded. 

The grave anxiety with which Margaret had 
asked her that morning if Rex Gascoigne had said 
anything — an anxiety which had deterred her 
from giving Rex the immediate answer which her 
heart prompted, recurred to her memory as she 
entered the little house. 

In all the vicissitudes of their lives Margaret’s 
decision had been final. She knew well that her 
fate lay in her sister’s hands. 

She had proposed to keep her secret until they 
were alone. So she waited through the glowing 
day and golden eventide until at last the children 
had sung their evening hymn and were, one and 
all, tucked up in bed, and then, as the two girls — 
one so happy and one so unutterably unhappy — 
sat together. Jessamine nestled up to her sister and 
said: 

“ Maggie, do you remember asking me this 
morning if Rex — Mr. Gascoigne, that is — said 
219 


2 20 THE SWEETEST SOLACE 

anything particular to me in the Cloisters yester- 
day?” 

“ I did ask you, darling,” replied her sister. 
“ But why do you mention it? ” 

“ Because this afternoon I went to the Cloisters 
again ' — to finish the sketch. And Mr. Gascoigne 
came, and did say something to me. You can 
guess.” 

Margaret gave a cry and dropped her work. 
Miss Blackiston’s effort had failed. 

“ Maggie, dearest Maggie, why do you cry like 
that?” 

“What answer did you give? What answer 
did you give? ” groaned Margaret. 

“ I gave him no definite answer, because you — 
well, because you had seemed so grave and serious 
this morning. I told him I must speak to you 
first.” 

An involuntary sigh of relief came from Mar- 
garet’s lips. Jessamine heard it, and continued, 
with a sudden expression of fear in her soft brown 
eyes : 

“ Why do you sigh like that? Why should you 
feel glad I didn’t answer? He loves me, and oh I 
I love him so — so much.” She gave a little sob 
of anguish, and Margaret drew the girl gently 
to herself and racked her wits in perplexity. 
What could she say? She could not tell Jessa- 
mine the awful story she had heard that morning. 
It would quench every spark of joy in the child’s 
life. Besides, despite Peggy Blackiston’s appeal, 
she could not smother the hope that if she but 


THE ANSWER 


221 


knew the name of that soldier who had driven her 
father into exile, she would find him out, and, if 
he still walked God’s earth, wring the truth from 
his perjured lips. But that meant time and 
money. She had little money, and Rex’s precipi- 
tate action had robbed her now of time. In the 
meantime. Jessamine was looking up into her face 
with hungry eyes. 

“You are so young, a mere child — sO' inex- 
perienced.” 

“ Only the other day you told me to remember 
that I was a woman. And if I lack experience, 
Rex will guide me and protect me from the hard- 
ships of life as well as you have done, darling 
Maggie. Oh, Maggie, why do you look so grave 
and sad? Do you wish me not to marry him? ” 

“ I do not wish you to be engaged to' him.” 

“ I cannot marry him without being engaged to 
him, can I? You do not know how good and 
loyal and tender he is. You mistrust him.” 

“ I do not mistrust him. He is a good and up- 
right man.” 

“ Then what is it? ” cried Jessy. “ Is it that I 
am not his social equal? ” 

“ We are only two unknown girls from the 
colonies, who keep a little school,” answered 
Margaret, catching at the straw so unexpectedly 
proffered. 

“ But Rex doesn’t mind. And truly, is that the 
only reason? ” 

Her sister was silent, and Jessy continued pas- 
sionately: “There is something else — some- 


222 


THE SWEETEST SOLACE 


thing you do not wish to tell me. I ask you, if 
you loved Rex Gascoigne as I love him, and he 
asked you to marry him and he was willing to take 
you, poor schoolmistress as you are, would you 
marry him? Tell me truly?” 

“ No, I should not.” Margaret’s voice was 
low, and yet there was no mistaking the deadly 
earnestness with which she spoke. 

“ Oh, Maggie ! what stands in the way, then, is 
something that concerns us both. Why,” she 
continued, with a nervous little laugh, “ we might 
be like that poor girl at Taroona, of whom the 
lady at Sydney told us.” 

She awaited Margaret’s disclaimer, but for the 
second time it came not, and a great fear seized 
her as Margaret, disregarding her sister’s last re- 
mark, gathered up her sewing and left the room. 

What could it mean? That poor girl’s father 
had cheated at cards. He was a bad man. But 
their father could not have done anything of that 
sort, for he was of all men the best she had ever 
met. Perhaps he was the innocent victim of some 
terrible tragedy in youth. She remembered hear- 
ing of a case where a man accidentally shot a rela- 
tion who stood between him and a fine property, 
and despite the tenor of his whole life walked 
ever beneath the most cruel suspicion. It was 
clear that Margaret knew something that she had 
not disclosed or wished to disclose. It was 
most mysterious and bewildering, but her faith in 
Margaret never wavered, and her simple duty 
Stared her in the face. She knelt beside her little 


THE ANSWER 


223 

bed and prayed God to give her strength to do 
that duty. 

When Rex appeared next day in the Quarry 
Walk he found Jessamine waiting for him beneath 
the trees under which they stood on the day Lord 
Streybridge had passed them. His heart sank 
when he saw her face. It was pale and sad and 
drawn. 

“ Dear, dear Jessy,” he cried, as he took her 
reluctant hand, “what is the matter? Why do 
you look so unhappy? Surely it cannot be that 
you will not give me the answer I hope for? ” 

“ I cannot give you that answer,” she said sim- 
ply. 

“You will not marry me. Oh, Jessy, is it, you 
do not love me? ” 

“ Oh, do not ask me ! I cannot accept your 
offer.” 

“But why — why? Ah, it is your sister that 
has stepped in between us, and I thought her my 
friend.” 

“ She is your friend.” 

“ Then what is it? ” persisted Rex. 

Jessamine was silent. She could not tell Rex 
Margaret’s reasons, for, in truth, she did not know 
them. Certain vague and horrible apprehensions 
had assailed her since Margaret had vouchsafed 
no reply to her last remark, but these, involving 
as they did the honour of her father, she could not 
impart. 

“ It is not because I have been frivolous and 
fond of pleasure?” Rex continued. 


224 the sweetest solace 

“ It is not that,” said Jessy. “ Margaret knows 
how good and disinterested you are.” 

“Then what is it?” he cried passionately. 

“ I cannot tell you,” she said simply. “ It is 
enough that I can not say yes, as I had hoped to. 
Do not think hardly of me? ” 

“ That I could never do. I can see you are act- 
ing against the promptings of your heart. I 
don’t blame Margaret. I daresay I am not fit for 
you, but I will make her change her views. She 
doesn’t know the Gascoignes. Whatever she may 
think now, I mean to marry you.” 

“ You are very brave and loyal, I know,” Jessa- 
mine replied through her tears, “ but I don’t see 
how it is to be. You had much better try and for- 
get all about me. And I will send you as a keep- 
sake the sketch of the Prior’s Tower.” 

“So that I can better forget you, dearest?” 
said Rex, with a smile of irony. 


CHAPTER XXIII 


FROM THE PAST 

Whilst Rex Gascoigne was placing his fate at 
issue in the Quarry Walk the Admiral sat in the 
morning-room of Gascoigne House in a brown 
study. Like most men of the world, he had 
schooled himself to accept the buffets of fortune 
with philosophy; still, he couldn’t see all his most 
cherished projects going by the board with indif- 
ference. Then the Admiral laughed a bitter little 
laugh, for he suddenly remembered that it was 
his own act of gallantry that had predisposed Mr. 
Cox in Rex’s favour and induced him to proffer 
the hospitality that had brought about this coil 
of disaster. Was there ever a more curious im 
stance of the irony of circumstance ? 

His good deeds had found him out in truth, and 
as he sat and gently cursed the proclivities for 
hero-worship, with which Mr. Cox seemed to be 
more than ordinarily endowed, the bell rang, and 
the servant entered and said a person named Cox 
was in the hall, and would feel obliged if the Ad- 
miral would grant him an interview which would 
not last more than ten minutes. 

The Admiral, despite his natural inclination to 
tell the squatter of Garlonga to go to the devil, 
bade the servant show him up. Cox entered the 
15 225 


226 THE SWEETEST SOLACE 


room, head erect and with gleaming eye. The 
Admiral forbore to proffer the hand that had once 
been refused, but he handed his guest a chair, and 
proceeded to ask him of what service he could be. 

“ I ain’t come here to ask a service,” replied 
Cox, wheeling his chair towards the Admiral, “ but 
to do one.” 

“ Indeed,” replied the Admiral dryly. 

“ Yes, and as I ain’t got too much time. I’ll get 
to close quarters at once. I heard from Miss 
Francis, whose guargian I am in a sort o’ way, 
that you was co^trustee with Mr. Swannick for 
Miss Blackiston, and that about this time a sum 
of £3,000 will be handed over to him.” 

“ Miss Blackiston is a communicative lady. 
May I ask, without offense, I hope, in what way 
this concerns — yourself? ” 

“ It don’t concern me,” replied Cox quietly, 
“ ’tis you who it concerns pretty closely, and I 
hope when that money comes in you’ll set your 
grip on it, for I’ve good reason for believing 
Swannick a rogue, and I thought it only right to 
tell you so.” 

“ Is that all you came for?” said the Admiral; 
“ for in that case I will not detain you.” He rose 
and placed his hand upon the bell. “ Mr. Swan- 
nick,” he added pointedly, “ is an intimate per- 
sonal friend of mine.” 

“ I know,” said Cox, “ and that’s why I came 
to warn you. You need not ring the bell. I’ll 
go, if you want, but before I do I should like to 
tell you my own experiences of Mr. Swannick, 


FROM THE PAST 


unless you prefer my telling ’em to Miss Blacki- 
ston.” 

The man’s pertinacity, his fearlessness, and, 
above all, his threat of confiding his forebodings 
to Peggy Blackiston, overcame Admiral Gas- 
coigne’s powers of resistance, so he told his visitor 
to proceed. 

“ After these girls came to England I remained 
in Australia, and realised slowly and carefully 
their father’s estate, and I got eventually £1,700. 
I sent Margaret the money in an open cheque, 
with instructions to place it at deposit at a re- 
spectable bank. I wanted it to be easily got at, 
for I have an option to go into a syndicate con- 
nected with some copper works in India.” 

“ Might I enquire if you refer to some works at 
Bhopal?” 

“ The same. I first heard of the Bhopal works 
in India years ago from a friend in Australia, who 
had a chum who had lost a lot o’ money in ’em. 
But that’s neither here nor there. Well, I asked 
Margaret a day or two ago to get her money 
ready. It then turned out that she had applied 
for assistance to Miss Blackiston, and she, poor 
lady, had handed the money to Swannick for in- 
vestment. I went straight to him and asked him 
for it. It was invested, so he said. I enquired 
where. He denied my right to interfere and re- 
fused to account for a penny — regularly pooh- 
poohed me altogether. But I ain’t a man to be 
pooh-poohed, so I went straight to his former 
partner — one Sefton. Sefton demands an imme- 


228 THE SWEETEST SOLACE 


diate interview, and by six in the evening every 
penny is refunded. Now that money was not in- 
vested, as he said, otherwise he would have pro- 
duced the deeds and ended the matter. It was not 
lying in the bank, for he would have disclosed his 
pass-book and satisfied, if not me, certainly Mr. 
Sefton. No, sir, that money had been parted 
with, and in the two hours’ grace Sefton gave him, 
he managed tO' raise it in another quarter. There, 
I’ve said my say.” 

“ I thank you,” replied the Admiral, with mock 
politeness. “ Now,” he continued, with a curious 
look in his keen eyes, “ might I ask you why you 
came here to-day? For I can only assume your 
solicitude was personal to myself.” 

Cox bit his nether lip, and a hot flush came into 
his bronzed cheek as he replied: 

“ You may think it an impertinence for a man 
in my position to say so, but I had reasons for 
wishing well to you. I had heard of Admiral 
Gascoigne before I came here.” 

“ Ah, yes,” said the Admiral, with a shrug of 
his broad shoulders. “ My nephew tells me you 
were in Sydney when a little incident happened 
which excited more comment in the press and 
elsewhere than it ought to have done.” 

“That wasn’t the whole reason, sir, though it 
was a fine thing. There are mighty few men of 
the age you were then who would dive off the 
quarter-deck of a man-o’-war. For you were ad- 
vanced in years for a captain.” 


FROM THE PAST 


229 


“ Possibly,” said the Admiral grimly, “ my pro- 
motion came late in life.” 

“ May I ask you why it came late? ” 

“ It’s not a thing I care to talk about,” said the 
Admiral. 

“ I should like to hear it,” persisted Cox. 

“ My man, you know something,” said the Ad- 
miral. “Well, if you’ve heard anything of it in 
other quarters you may as well know the truth. 
When I was a lieutenant I got into the black books 
of my captain. There, you have it in a nutshell.” 

“ How did you get in your captain’s black 
books?” enquired Cox, with the persistence that 
had excited the Admiral’s curiosity. It was at 
once respectful but compelling. The Admiral 
looked into the eager, scarred face, and with a 
short laugh continued his story. 

“ There was a lad aboard the Hector that was 
a favourite with all of us. Smart as ninepence, 
good with his fists, good swimmer, good every- 
thing, and the best top-man aboard. Little chap 
he was, but hard as nails; and whenever I went 
ashore for a day’s shooting or fishing he was the 
one out of the whole ship’s company I always 
asked leave to take with me. Well, the captain 
of the Hector was a hard, autocratic man, and he 
took it into his head that the boy should be his 
personal servant; the lad, I believe, did his best, 
but the work irked his spirit, and he proved any- 
thing but a success, and was soon sent back to his 
ordinary duty. In the meantime, he had earned 
the captain’s ill-will, and old ‘ B.,’ as we called 


230 


THE SWEETEST SOLACE 


Captain Bloxham, made the lad’s life a living mis- 
ery. One day at kit inspection he found fault, as 
usual, with his victim. The lad ventured to make 
some reply to a groundless accusation. Bloxham, 
in an ecstasy of passion, raised his hand. The 
sailor, without a second’s hesitation, raised his also. 
Unfortunately, it went within an inch of the cap- 
tain’s nose. 

“ ‘ By God ! ’ cried Bloxham, ‘ he tried to strike 
me. Clap him in irons.’ Well, the master-at- 
arms was there and the bo’sun, and you may be 
sure they did not hesitate to take the captain’s 
view. But to me, standing quite close, it seemed 
that the boy, seeing Captain Bloxham raise his 
hand in a fit of passion, thought, not unnaturally, 
that the capain was about to strike him, and sud- 
denly raised his hand involuntarily and automat- 
ically to protect himself. Had he intended to 
strike the captain he could have done so. This 
was my view, which I respectfully submitted to 
the captain. I need not say it did not receive 
much attention in that quarter. Well, this poor 
fellow was clapped in irons, and when he arrived 
at Malta he was tried by court-martial. The cap- 
tain gave his evidence, which was supported by 
his witnesses. I traversed that evidence and did 
all I could to save an innocent man. But what 
was one man in the face of several. The sailor 
was found guilty, got two years’ imprisonment, 
and was dismissed from the service. I never 
heard of him again, but I have often thought of 
him. In truth. I’ve reason to remember the poor 


FROM THE PAST 


231 


devil,” continued the Admiral, “ for Bloxham 
transferred his resentment to me, and for the rest 
of the commission, three years and more, he led 
me a life I never think of without shuddering. 
What was worse, he went afterwards to the Ad- 
miralty, and had he not died in an apoplectic fit 
two years afterwards my career had ended. As 
it was, I was passed over, and as you observed, 
did not get my ship until I was well nigh an old 
man. But I don’t regret what I did, not for one 
moment.” 

‘‘ What was the sailor’s name ? ” asked his visi- 
tor, looking into the fireplace. 

“ His name,” repeated the Admiral. “ If it 
comes to that, it was the same as your own — 
Cox. It’s pretty common. I know lots of ’em 
up and down, saving your presence, and I am 
afraid the wealthy Australian squatter has never 
heard of his poor disgraced namesake of a 
sailor?” 

“ I have heard of him,” answered Cox in a low 
voice. “What was his other name?” 

“ Benjamin — Ben Cox, his shipmates used to 
call him.” 

“ My name is Benjamin Cox,” answered the 
other quietly. 

“ Good God ! ” cried the Admiral, starting from 
his chair, “ you’re not ” 

“ I am, I am. I am the Benjamin Cox, the 
same whom you risked your whole career for, and 
now you know why I was drawn to the nephew 


232 THE SWEETEST SOLACE 

who bore your name, and for the matter o’ that, 
why I came here this afternon.” 

Admiral Gascoigne sprang towards Cox and 
looked straight into his face. Was this scarred, 
wizened, grim filibuster the same cheery, rosy- 
cheeked, merry-eyed bluejacket? He shook his 
head. 

“ Do you remember, sir, the day’s shooting we 
had at Corfu, when Lieutenant Locket plugged lit- 
tle Davies through the brim of his straw hat? ” 

“ By Heaven, you are the man ! ” cried the 
Admiral. “ Oh, my poor, poor fellow,” he added 
kindly, as he laid his hand on the other’s shoulder, 
“ how you must have suffered ! ” 

From the grim, hard lips there escaped a little 
groan. The slight form shook like a leaf. With 
an effort, he overcame the spasm of anguish that 
for one fleeting second had conquered the self- 
control of a lifetime, and the Admiral continued 
hastily : 

“Now tell me what happened to you after you 
— you know.” 

“I came out — and all, father, mother and 
brothers, turned against me, except my brother 
Bill, who had served himself under Captain Blox- 
ham,. He sent me £30 of his savings, and I faced 
the world — I did nothing to be ashamed of,” 
said Cox; “no ‘ blackbirding,’ not even smug- 
gling. But there’s always work for a sailor man 
who knows his work and don’t mind risks — block- 
ades to be run — ships to be taken out o’ neutral 
ports — contraband of war to be carried. I did 


FROM THE PAST 


233 


all these, and eventually found myself in South 
America, where war was going on between the re- 
publics of San Donato and Guatilema. I joined 
the San Donato navy. Half of ’em couldn’t train 
a gun. There was some mighty stiff fighting, and 
at close quarters, and I carry marks of it, as you 
see. In three months’ time I was an officer, and 
by the time we had knocked the Guatilemian navy 
off the sea I was captain of a cruiser, with as 
much gold lace about me as a first Lord of the 
Admiralty. They made me superintendent of the 
dockyard. But being the first of ’em that didn’t 
pinch the wages, they gave me a very decent sal- 
ary, two-thirds of which I transmitted month by 
month to Australia. It was safe there, and I 
could get a higher interest than I could in Eng- 
land. Well, as is the way in South America, there 
was a sudden revolution. The President was shot 
in the Plaza, and as I scorned to serve under the 
treacherous greaser who had killed him in cold 
blood, I resigned my billet and followed my sav- 
ings to Australia. After casting about a bit, I 
resolved to start farming and invested my money 
in a sheep run. And a pretty investment it would 
have been if it had not been for my neighbour, 
Mr. Francis. For my flocks got the scab, and it 
was only through him that I saved ’em.” 

“ I see, and that is how you came to know those 
beautiful girls over the way. Now, tell me, what 
manner of man was he?” asked the Admiral art- 
lessly. “ Was he colonial bred, or was he a cadet 
of an English family? ” 


234 


THE SWEETEST SOLACE 


“ He never talked about the past. I fancy he 
came out from England. He had an old high- 
cantled saddle that I know was made in England, 
for once happening to turn up the flap I saw the 
name of the maker. It was made in Canterbury. 
I said nothing about it to Mr. Francis. It was 
none o’ my business.” 

‘‘A good saddle travels far afield; he might 
have bought it second-hand anywhere south of 
Gibraltar. Did he mention India to you? ” 

“ No, sir. I can only remember one occasion 
when he mentioned his former life, and that was 
once when the river at Baroopna showed signs of 
a coming flood. After getting his own sheep to 
the upper ground, he pulled out his best horse and 
galloped nigh on sixty miles from station to station 
down the river, borrowing a fresh horse at every 
place he stopped at. When he came back I asked 
him why he had gone so far and so fast. He 
replied, that I could never have seen a flood, and 
did not know the speed with which it overspread 
a country-side. And then, I suppose, being a bit 
excited by the day’s adventure, he told me that 
he was once gold-washing in California when a 
valley was flooded. He was staying in an hotel in 
the neighbouring township where he had gone to 
register a new claim. Hearing that a big dam 
up-stream was giving way he left his papers with 
a friend and galloped up the river to his shanty 
and secured all the dust he had carefully ‘ cached ’ 
during many months’ digging. Scarcely had he 
got there when the dam burst. Hearing the roar 


FROM THE PAST 


235 


he turned his wearied horse to the foothills, and 
got to the higher ground just In time. For In a 
few hours not a human habitation was left in the 
valley; the township was swept away, and his 
chum, like the other visitors in the hotel, was only 
Identified by the papers on his person.” 

“Ah!” said the Admiral quickly; “but you 
forget the man who was drowned held your 
friend’s papers. So Mr. Francis survived the fa- 
mous flood In the Tonora Valley, eh! By the 
way, as he was interested In mining, was It he who 
mentioned the Bhopal works to you? ” 

“ It was,” said Cox. “ He knew about most 
things. And now, sir, I must go. I am glad to 
have had this talk, and had an opportunity of 
thanking you for what you did all those years ago, 
and for God’s sake look after that lady’s money. 
Not that I ought to say so, for it ain’t for me to 
teach Admiral Gascoigne his duty.” 

They shook hands this time, and Ben Cox 
thought to himself as he left the room, “ I’ve 
given the old gentleman something to think 
about.” 

But It was not at the thought of his visitor 
that Admiral Gascoigne’s brow clouded, and his 
strong hand trembled. 

Henry Carden had lived on, and that girl was 
his daughter — the daughter of the man who stole 
the emerald and was cashiered; and Rex loved her. 
He walked to the open window and looked out 
Into the Square, and lo! he saw Rex Gascoigne 
returning. 


236 THE SWEETEST SOLACE 

He called the lad to him as he ran up the stairs. 

“ You have been out,” he said, with a curious 
ring of anxiety in his voice. 

“ I have,” replied Rex. 

“ May I ask, was it not to meet Miss Jessamine 
Francis? ” 

“ It was, uncle,” said Rex, with steadfast eyes. 

“ I don’t as a rule interfere with your affairs, 
Rex, but I think I have a right to ask you, do you 
intend to marry the young girl? ” 

“ I asked her to marry me this afternoon and 
she refused. If you will allow me I will go up- 
stairs.” 

Admiral Gascoigne gave a sigh of relief. 

The danger had passed. Then he thought of 
that sweet pathetic face, and the iron mouth 
trembled. “ Poor child I Perhaps she knows.” 


CHAPTER XXIV 


THE BAIT 

Three weeks passed away, the term was over, 
and the two sisters were left alone in Gascoigne 
Square. Margaret had fulfilled her pledge to 
Lady Armine. Now that her sister had refused 
to marry Rex Gascoigne there was no immediate 
necessity for flight, the more so as Lord Strey- 
bridge, seeing that his old school-fellow seemed 
unusually despondent, had invited him to stay at 
Helstone Towers pending the settlement of his 
affairs ; and Rex, knowing that whatever action his 
friend had taken on that day in the Quarry Walk 
had been impelled by duty, overcame any feeling 
of resentment and accepted the invitation readily. 
Anything was better than constantly meeting the 
girl he loved but could not marry. 

So the two sisters remained in Whitborough; 
sad at heart ’tis true, yet not without consolation. 
They loved each other very dearly; and Margaret, 
remembering how her father, though his whole 
life had been ruined, had never allowed his own 
sorrows to affect those he loved, tried hard to be 
brave and cheerful. Jessamine strove to respond. 
Above all, spring — the English spring whereof 
Shakespeare sang — was upon them, with all its 
fascination. 


237 


238 THE SWEETEST SOLACE 


There were, however, certain occupants of the 
Square to whom the joys of springtide brought 
scant surcease from their troubles. Mrs. Merry- 
dew, for example, who seemed no nearer recogni- 
tion on the part of Miss Blackiston, upon which 
depended — so she was pleased to think — that 
social apotheosis — an invitation to dine at Hel- 
stone Towers. Her daughter was scarcely less de- 
jected, for Mr. Harris, noticing an unusual jaunti- 
ness in Bob Rowly’s demeanour, drew his own in- 
ferences, and having harried that young man 
ceaselessly during office hours, spent his leisure 
hours in torturing his fiancee. Repeated com- 
ments upon excessive embonpoint and a waddling 
gait, and the correlative panegyrics upon slim con- 
tours and stately carriage showed only too clearly 
that, however callous Miss Francis might be to 
her Albert’s charms this indifference was by no 
means mutual, and when he went so far as to 
asperse the honour of her house by deriding the 
“ Dolcibel Carte d’Or ” the agitated girl was fain 
to admit that though dear Bert had the hel air he 
was certainly apt to turn nasty. 

Perturbed as these good people may have been 
there was one inhabitant of Gascoigne Square 
who had far more cause for anxiety. For some 
days after Ben Cox’s visit Admiral Gascoigne 
could think of little else. Not only was he 
strangely moved by the reappearance of the man 
whose cruel fate had so materially affected his 
own career, but he was still more concerned to 
learn that Harry Carden, his brother’s chum, 


THE BAIT 


239 


had lived for years in honour and tranquillity and 
that his daughters were actually at his own doors. 
But as time went on he began to think less of 
his visitor and more of the reason and purport of 
that visit. Ben Cox’s parting words recurred to 
his memory with unpleasant insistence. 

“ It ain’t for me to teach Admiral Gascoigne his 
duty.” 

Duty — of course he owed a duty to Peggy 
Blackiston, though he could not deny that hitherto 
matters had never struck him that way. Swannick 
was as straight as a die. He had, no doubt, re- 
sented Ben Cox’s interference. 

Nevertheless, what Cox had said was true; he 
owed a duty to the beneficiary and that duty he 
would fulfil. 

In the meantime, it was only fair to Swannick 
that he should give him ample opportunity of tak- 
ing the initiative in the matter. 

When, however, first a week, then a fortnight, 
then three weeks passed since Ben Cox’s warning 
fell upon his ears. Admiral Gascoigne begun tO' get 
a little uneasy. Not uneasy as to the safety of 
the money, of that he had no misgiving, but un- 
easy that he would himself have to raise the sub- 
ject. And when another week passed away and 
Swannick, though seeing the Admiral constantly, 
made no allusion whatsoever to the trust fund, 
the Admiral thought the time had come when 
he must say something to satisfy his own con- 
science. 

So one morning he walked across to the office 


240 THE SWEETEST SOLACE 

and found Swannick disengaged. As was his 
custom, Admiral Gascoigne stated his business 
with brevity. 

“ I was wondering, Swannick, if that poor fel- 
low Sheen had paid off Miss Blackiston’s mort- 
gage.’’ 

Swannick suppressed a little start and looking 
up with his most genial smile replied: 

“ Yes, he stumped up a few days ago. I ought, 
I suppose, to have told you, but I have 
been busy with your brother’s estate and other 
matters.” 

“You banked the money, no doubt,” said the 
Admiral. 

“ Well, no. A lady who had entrusted me with 
some money to invest in a mortgage, cried off 
at the last minute, and as I think I have a very 
suitable investment I thought, with your consent, 
I would apply a large portion of this money of 
Miss Blackiston’s trust fund. I purpose looking 
into the security in a few days and in the meantime 
I thought it scarcely worth while putting the 
money in the bank simply to draw it out again. 
Sheen paid in notes. They are lying in yonder 
safe. I daresay my assurance will be enough for 

the present, but of course, if you really wish ” 

he rose and fumbled for his keys with a readiness 
which would certainly have dispelled any doubts 
had Admiral Gascoigne been really suspicious. 

“ Oh, of course your assurance is enough, my 
dear fellow,” he replied hastily. “ Only no pri- 
vate safe, however strong, is quite as secure as the 


THE BAIT 


241 


strong room of a bank, and even the most careful 
of us are apt to mislay our keys, at least I know I 
do. So I think it my duty to say frankly that 
pending investment — and these investigations 
may take some little time — I think it would be 
best to place the money on deposit, where, at 
least, it’s earning something.” 

“As you like, as you like,” replied Swannick, 
with an assumption of airy indifference. “ Only 
I am tied by the leg all day to-day, expecting 
clients and the like. To-morrow I am going in 
the country to look into this very investment, and 
may be away two days. And I do not care to 
send even my most confidential clerk with so large 
a sum in notes. It is not fair to ask any salaried 
servant to take so great a responsibility.” 

“ Oh, if it comes to that,” said the Admiral, 
“I’ll take ’em now.” 

An awful light flashed momentarily in Swan- 
nick’s eyes, but he rose to the occasion. 

“ I think, if you don’t mind, I should prefer 
to take them myself. When a layman and a 
solicitor are co-trustees it is usual to leave these 
matters in the hands of the professional man. 
I certainly think the bank manager might think 
it curious to see you acting yourself and might 
— I don’t say he would, still he might — regard 
the incident as a slight reflection upon my profes- 
sional good name. And, so long as I am the act- 
ing trustee, as it is called, I should certainly prefer 
tO' act ” 

“ Of course, of course,” replied the Admiral, 


242 THE SWEETEST SOLACE 

who was more than a little embarrassed by the 
attitude Swannick had assumed. “ Keep the notes 
for the next few days, and so soon as this business 
of Rex’s Is completed we will go to the bank 
together. For I suppose, legally, I ought to leave 
my signature as well, and the cheques should be 
drawn conjointly.” 

Swannick clenched his teeth. What had roused 
Admiral Gascoigne to this sense of responsibility? 

“ I suppose you should,” he replied, clearing his 
throat, and he added, with a sardonic leer at the 
Admiral, “ It Is a very proper precaution in these 
days of absconding solicitors.” 

Admiral Gascoigne’s ruddy face grew yet red- 
der. He had felt some embarrassment all through 
the Interview and his friend’s banter did not tend 
to allay It. 

“ I know It’s a mere matter of form, Swannick. 
But most of my life has been spent in regarding 
matters of form as matters of duty.” 

“ Quite right, too,” said Swannick cheerfully, 
“ and I was only having a bit of fun at my own 
expense. So soon as Rex’s affairs are fixed up 
we’ll go to the bank and deposit the money. By 
the way. Admiral,” he added, with the squinnying 
up of his eyes which, from long experience. Ad- 
miral Gascoigne knew preceded a joke, “ talking 
of absconding solicitors, supposing you came here 
in due course and found that some of those notes, 
or part, were — well, weren’t forthcoming, I 
should be rather Interested to know what view 
you would take of the position. Would you 


THE BAIT 


243 


say, ‘ Oh, poor Tom Swannick! He’s acted very 
wrongly, of course, but what a good, companion- 
able chap he was and v/hat jolly dinners we’ve had 
together ! I’ll give him time to pull things round ’ 
— or would it be ‘ Damned scoundrel I Send for 
the man in blue ’ ? ” 

Swannick’s eyes twinkled merrily. The Admiral 
was glad to see he had got over any little feeling 
of annoyance he might have felt at his co-trustee’s 
importunity, so, catching the spirit of the jest, he 
answered, with equal readiness : 

“ It would certainly be ‘ Damned scoundrel ’ 
in any case, but as for the ‘ man in blue ’ — that 
would depend. You see, my friend, I should have 
to stump up whatever was missing out of my own 
pocket. Now, if it only concerned myself I 
should remember all your good points, and the 
jolly parties, and I should probably say ‘ Poor 
Tom Swannick! he’s let me in, but he was a dear, 
good, companionable fellow, we won’t pop him to 
chokee this time.’ But ” 

“ Yes,” enquired Swannick with the merriest 
chuckle whilst the marrow froze in his bones. 

“If the loss of the money prevented my helping 
Rex along, and so stopped his going into Parlia- 
ment, and all that — well, I am afraid I should 
think less of poor Tom Swannick than of poor 
Rex Gascoigne.” 

“ But would the loss of even the extra £3,000 
prevent Rex representing our enlightened con- 
stituency?” asked the jocund solicitor. 

“ That would depend upgri the fortunes of 


244 the sweetest SOLACE 

Macalister’s syndicate; whether that company was 
formed and how much of my poor brother’s con- 
tributions become recoverable. If we did manage 
to pull back eight or nine thousand pounds, then 

it would be only ‘ Poor Tom Swannick ! ’ and 

But there, old friend, a truce to our joking,” said 
the Admiral heartily. “ Let us both thank God 
we’re reasonably honest fellows, as the world goes, 
and can hear the convict-made boots of a police- 
man without undue anxiety. Good-morning.” 

“ By Gad, he meant it! ” murmured Swannick. 
“ If it lies ’twixt Rex and me — I’m as good as 
sentenced. But £1,700 isn’t £3,000. It’s only 
£70 pounds a year, a mere nothing to an M. P. 
Lord in Heaven, what a position! Did he sus- 
pect? No, no. He caught up the jest too read- 
ily, and in any case, there is the one chance of the 
Bhopal flotation.” 

He sat at his table, the papers unheeded, racked 
with misery and indecision. He heard a cheerful 
voice outside in the hall. 

“ Ah ! how d’ye do, Mr. Harris. Glad to see 
you. Mr. Swannick engaged? No? I should 
like to have a word with him. By the way, didn’t 
I see you playing picquet at the East Whitshire 
the other evening. We must have a game togeth- 
er. You’ll be delighted, eh? Right you are. 
Now just ask Mr. Swannick to see me.” 

“ Mr. Helstone would like to see you, sir,” said 
Harris, with radiant face. 

“ Show him in,” replied Swannick, who, for 
reasons of his own, was not too pleased at the 


THE BAIT 


245 

courtesies which had just been vouchsafed to his 
clerk. 

Barkly Helstone, bright of eye and with a smile 
on his shaven lips, closed the door carefully after 
him and walked up to his friend. 

“ My dear fellow, I want you to do me a kind- 
ness which you and nO’ other man on earth can 
do. I had a visit, a most unpleasant visit, last 
evening from our friend Trodd. This is the sec- 
ond time within the last six months he’s come to 
Whitborough, and personally dunned me for a bit 
on account. This place is too near London. Of 
course, I could not settle up. I’ve had such 
cursed luck lately; and I tell you he was very 
nasty about it. Well, I gave him what I could. 
But he hasn’t left the ‘ Imperial ’ yet and I 
shouldn’t be surprised if he comes and smokes an- 
other cigar — my best Cabinet Upmans, if you 
please — this evening. Now I want to square up 
with the fellow and have done with him, and I 
mean to, too — and that out of his own pocket. 
Now read this.” 

He produced a crumpled telegram out of his 
pocket and handed it to Swannick. It had been 
received about an hour before and ran thus : 
‘‘ Mermaid, three lengths. Bobby.” 

“ Now, of course you know,” continued Barkly 
Helstone, “ Sir Robert Hurford is a dear, good 
pal of mine, and that he has two horses running 
in the Great Portsdown Spring Handicap — Mer- 
maid, at 8 stone 3 lbs.; Spinaker, 7 stone 7 lbs. 
Well, Hurford told me some time ago he was go- 


246 THE SWEETEST SOLACE 

ing to have a trial at their advertised weights. 
This took place a fortnight ago, with this result.” 

“ Why did he wire this morning, then? ” asked 
Swannick. 

“ Because Hurford’s dear, good pals have to 
wait until he has got every penny of his own 
money on first. He never gives away a chance, 
does Bobby. He’s worked his commission now, 
and so he sends the news to a select few as quick 
as he can. But there’s lots of time left for us — 
and just think of it. Spinaker beat The Pieman 
at Kempton, same distance, with 4 lbs. the worst 
of the weights, and he beat Bellringer at Good- 
wood at about the same weights. If the horses 
are the same this year as last, the race is over bar 
the shouting. I have been quaking to see if the 
touts got wind of the trial, but no. Bob Hurford’s 
too downy. Now Trodd closed my account so far 
as future operations are concerned. I daren’t 
face him with the ‘ ready,’ for I swore last night 
by all I held sacred that I couldn’t raise another 
‘ pony ’ if I had to die for it. Now do, like a 
good friend, put the money on for me. Here’s 
£250 in notes. Hurry off to the ‘ Imperial ’ and 
put the money on Mermaid while she’s at 
‘ eights.’ I don’t like to suggest your having any- 
thing on yourself, but there’s Bob Hurford’s wire 
and you know what three lengths mean over a short 
course. You’ll do it, I know,” he added seduc- 
tively. 

“ Certainly,” said Swannick, as he took the 
crinkling notes, “ if you don’t mind the risk. Sup- 


THE BAIT 


247 

posing he collars the money on account of my own 
debt?” 

“ You mustn’t lose hold on ’em till the bet’s 
arranged. Oh, Trodd won’t refuse hard money I ” 

Scarcely had Barkly Helstone gone than Swan- 
nick rose from his chair and began to walk fever- 
ishly up and down the room. If Mermaid at that 
weight could beat Spinaker by three lengths and 
there was anything in form, then here, indeed, 
was the chance of a lifetime. What would he 
have given himself for £250, or rather, let us say, 
£500, in ready money. £4,000 would extricate 
him from all his difficulties, and the “ man in 
blue,” as he had facetiously termed the police- 
man, would have no more terrors for him. For 
the matter of that, if it came to wishing, he might 
as well wish for the level thousand. Mermaid 8 
to i! Eight thousand pounds! All liabilities 
squared; overdraughts settled at the bank; and 
that cold-blooded villain Trodd paid back, liter- 
ally, in his own coin. If only the bookmaker 
would lay the bet whilst his old debts were still 
unpaid. Eight thousand pounds! The figures 
danced before his eyes. In a few days’ time Ad- 
miral Gascoigne would be asking for that £3,000. 
Had he not heard a certain aphorism that “ It 
was as well to be hung for a sheep as a lamb.” 
He turned with set, hard face and walked quickly 
to the safe. 

About five o’clock that afternoon Barkly Hel- 
stone entered the Imperial Hotel by a side en- 


248 THE SWEETEST SOLACE 


trance, and avoiding the public rooms, proceeded 
upstairs with swift and stealthy steps. He 
knocked softly at a bedroom door, which was 
opened by Andrew Trodd. 

“ Well, did it come off? ” enquired Helstone in 
a low voice. 

“ Yes; he swallowed the bait,” replied the book- 
maker with a chuckle as he closed a small port- 
manteau which he had just packed. “ I told you 
the beggar could get at money.” 

“ Get money, you said,” replied Barkly Hel- 
stone quickly. 

“ ‘ Get,’ or ‘ get at.’ It’s the same thing to a 
man in his position.” 

“How much did he spring to?” asked Hel- 
stone, with a note of awe in his voice. 

“ That’s nothing to do with you. It was 
enough for the purpose. Let it rest at that. Un- 
less — ^ — ” and he turned fiercely upon the other — 
“ unless you’re playing me false yourself. You’re 
sure about Hurford’s telegram? ” 

“ I’ll swear it. He promised me that so soon 
as his own commission was worked he would send 
me the result of the trial, putting the distance by 
which it was won, but the name of the loser and 
not the winner, for last year a post office clerk 
gave away the show and the price closed up like 
a concertina. When you were harrying me so 
damned hard last night I knew I should get Bob- 
by’s wire within a few hours — so it struck me — ” 
He stopped short and for once seemed slightly 
embarrassed. 


THE BAIT 


249- 


“ Oh, I know,” said Trodd with a grim laugh. 
“ Well, sir,” he continued, “ at your own sug- 
gestion I trusted you to-day with £250 of my own 
money — the bait, eh? If Mermaid’s beat, and 
beat she must be, if your story of Sir Robert Hur- 
ford’s telegram be true, the four hundred odd 
pounds you’ve been owing me for some months 
will be wiped off the slate. But if by any chance 
Mermaid should win and this proves to be a ramp 
between you and Swannick, then God help 


“ I swear I’m running straight,” he cried. 

“ Oh, are you ? ” said the bookmaker sardon- 
ically. ‘‘ Well, if you’ve kept your word you’ll 
find that I’ll keep mine. Honour among thieves, 
eh ! Good afternoon. I’m just off.” 

Helstone walked downstairs. His ears were 
tingling with the ruffian’s insults. “ Honour 
among thieves.” That was the way he ventured 
to speak to a Helstone. Thieves, eh ! A man 
passed, dressed in rough country clothes, with 
bright eyes and open face. He gave Barkly 
Helstone a curt nod. He was a country squire 
with whom Helstone had been at school and col- 
lege. 

“ He hasn’t forgiven me about that chestnut 
mare,” muttered Helstone with a curse. 

He heard a voice : “ Master Barkly ! Master 
Barkly!” and turning, saw an old woman, with 
kind gentle face, hastening towards him. It was 
his old nurse who lived in Whitborough. 

“Ah, Janet!” he cried in his softest voice. 


250 


THE SWEETEST SOLACE 


“ How goes it. I’m so glad to see you up and 
about again. I heard you had been ill.” 

“ I had, Master Barkly, and I wondered why 
you didn’t come to see me. But I knew how busy 
and how sought after you are and I’m only an old 
woman. But I’m better now and I came out to- 
day and drove in a cab to the Helstone church- 
yard. Do you know what to-day is? ” 

Barkly shook his head. 

“ It’s the anniversary of her ladyship’s death. 
Ah! how proud she was of you, Master Barkly. 

‘ My first-born may wear a coronet,’ she’d say, 

‘ but my little baby boy will wear a finer crown 
than that — a crown of honour — for all men 
shall love and respect him.’ That’s what she used 
to say, many a time and oft, when you were little. 
Now that I think of it, she didn’t say it so often 
when you grew older. But then it was just mother 
talk.” 

“ Oh, was it, Janet? Well, she was a good 
mother — poor soul. Good day, Janet.” 

Helstone walked rapidly towards the club, bit- 
terness and anger tearing at his heart. He felt 
like a wild beast in the jungle. The predatory 
instinct gripped his whole nature. He sniffed, as 
it were, for a victim. As he entered the hall of 
the East Whitshire he saw Harris. 

He tapped him on the shoulder and said, in his 
sweetest manner: 

“ Come, Mr. Harris, let’s have that game of 
picquet.” 


CHAPTER XXV. 

A FOSTER-MOTHER 

When Lord Streybridge invited Rex to Helstone 
Towers he had little doubt as to the cause of his 
young friend’s despondency. Rex vouchsafed no 
confidence to him, and so Lord Streybridge for- 
bore to probe the matter, but he assumed that, 
for some reason, Rex wished to see a little less 
of Miss Jessamine Francis than he had been lately 
doing. 

In the meantime, Rex’s duties to the constit- 
uency could not be neglected. It had been pri- 
vately arranged that Mr. Lancelot Helstone 
should not announce his retirement until Rex had 
attained his twenty-fifth year, and the question 
as to his financial position was thoroughly settled. 

Though not yet an accredited nominee of the 
Helstone party, his probable candidature was a 
secret de PolichineUe, and he had to address small 
unofficial meetings, and keep himself generally in 
the eye of the constituency. 

At first Rex had acquitted himself with great 
success. Though lacking the skill and finesse of 
the practised orator, he was at least lucid, straight- 
forward, and, in a modest way, amusing. Of late, 
however. Lord Streybridge could not help noticing 
that his protege’s speeches began to lose fire. 
251 


252 


THE SWEETEST SOLACE 


There was less wit and vigour In them. They 
were the speeches of a pre-occupied man. Lord 
Streybridge was far too keen a politician not to 
notice the difference and to regret the same. He 
hoped, however, that this was only a passing 
phase which would cease with the cause thereof, 
and he had too much tact to reproach his young 
friend, or to do otherwise than let minor poli- 
tics alone for the present, and leave his guest to 
his own devices. 

Accordingly one morning, when Lord Strey- 
bridge was himself at Whitborough endeavouring 
to assure certain greybeards that their potential 
candidate had really more grit than his recent 
efforts might have led them to suppose, Rex Gas- 
coigne was sitting in a basket-chair on the terrace 
at Helstone Towers. In the distance lay the city 
in a soft haze. The glittering estuary lay like a 
silver footstool at his feet; between them lay the 
sunlit meadows. He was looking Idly at the gra- 
cious scene ; a book lay unopened on his knees. The 
air was soft with the scent of flowers. The birds 
sang joyously in tree and bush. They sang to him 
of Jessamine. In the midst of his reverie he 
heard the soft rustling of a lady’s dress. He 
looked up and saw Lady Armine Helstone picking 
her way through the trimly-cut beds. She came 
across, with a smile on her sweet, romantic face, 
and she held In her hand a worn and stained dog- 
skin glove. 

“ Here’s the glove,” she said. “ I’ve sewn the 
button on for you.” 


A FOSTER-MOTHER 


253 


“ Oh, thanks,” he replied, springing up. 
“ How good and kind you are ! Do you remem- 
ber how I used to bring you my socks to mend 
during my holidays because there was no one at 
home to dam them?” 

“ Poor little motherless boy,” she said softly. 
“ Julian used to call me your foster-mother.” 

“ So he did. I used to regard you with filial 
piety — not unmixed with awe, though really 
there’s not much to choose between us in point of 
years.” 

“ I am afraid I am rather awe-inspiring,” she 
said, with a wry little laugh. 

“ Oh ! it wears off, I am bound to say. Julian 
has gone to Whitborough, hasn’t he, interviewing 
local leaders? Oh, dear! I’m afraid he’s a little 
bit disappointed with me.” 

“ He thinks you have lost heart in the fight. 
Julian never loses his heart in anything.” 

“ Perhaps I have lost heart,” he answered, with 
a sigh. 

“ You seem to be not quite yourself this visit. 
What is it? Can I help you? ” 

“ Can you help me? ” said Rex, looking quickly 
up into her face and gathering therefrom heart of 
grace. “You can. You can give your sympathy; 
nay more, your advice. I have lost heart — my 
own heart. You won’t laugh. I am so awfully in 
love. Of course, if I didn’t regard you as a sort 
of sister as well as a foster-mother I shouldn’t tell 
you, and you won’t laugh I ” 


254 


THE SWEETEST SOLACE 


“ No,” she answered, with a curious little catch 
in her voice, “ I won’t laugh.” 

“ And you don’t ask me who it is. How dis- 
creet! But I suppose you’d like to know? ” 

“ I am a woman,” she answered quietly. 

“ You won’t breathe a word of it to anyone. 
Julian, I fancy, suspects, and Uncle Jack knows, 
but I shouldn’t like the matter to be discussed. 
Well, have you heard of two girls named Francis, 
the elder of whom was appointed mistress to the 
little school in Gascoigne Square ? ” 

“ I have met Miss Francis. I admire her very 
much.” 

“ What, Margaret ! She’s all very well in her 
way — nice, good, pure-minded, and all that, but 
oh! Armine, if you had seen her sister Jessa- 
mine ! ” 

“ I have seen her also. She is very beautiful — 
and good, I am sure. You would be very happy 
if you married her, Rex,” said Lady Armine 
quietly. 

“ Of course I should — but I cannot marry her. 
I asked her to marry me. She cares for me, she 
told me as much, but — she cannot marry me.” 

“ Oh, Rex, I am so ” — she paused for a mo- 
ment, and then added, with a faint smile — “so 
sorry.” 

Rex walked up and down the terrace, and then 
they stood together, resting against the stone balus- 
trade. 

“Now why won’t she?” he continued. “I’m 
not good-looking, nor particularly clever, nor par- 


A FOSTER-MOTHER 


255 


ticuiarly anything, if it comes to that, but then, 
look at all the fellows whom girls do see their way 
to marry I ” 

“ Perhaps — I do not know, of course, but per- 
haps she thinks marriage might affect your pros- 
pects.” 

“ That may be one reason, but that is not the 
true reason. There is some other obstacle. Now 
how can I overcome it if I don’t know what it is? 
It is really her sister who is influencing her. I do 
not like to ask Margaret Francis. Probably she 
would not care to discuss such a matter with any 
man — much less the man in question.” 

“ Would you — would you like me to ask Miss 
Francis? Though I do not know her well, I think 
we like one another — certainly I like her, and she 
might not mind confiding in a woman.” 

“Oh, Armine! Would you really do that for 
me? I wouldn’t have ventured to ask you. It is 
too kind of you.” 

He looked at her with an expression of unutter- 
able gratitude. 

“ Yes, I would do that for you. I am your 
foster-mother, you know.” 

“ You are the best and kindest of women. I tell 
you what — it would be a lucky man who married 
you, but I do not think any ordinary man would 
touch your heart.” 

“ Don’t you? ” she asked softly. 

“ No. You see, you would have such lofty 
ideals. But I am sure, if any man did win your 
heart, you’re the sort of woman who would requite 


256 THE SWEETEST SOLACE 

his love; for if you are prepared to do this act of 
kindness and solicitude for a mere friend like me, 
what would you do for the man you loved? ” 

“Not more, perhaps,” she answered, with a 
far-away look in her eyes. 

He walked away. She watched his figure pass- 
ing through the trees, and then she turned and 
looked towards the estuary and the city shim- 
mering in the haze. Close beside her was the great 
stone terminal of the balustrade, with its heavy 
globe nigh discoloured with the moss and lichen. 
Against it she leant her sweet immovable face, and 
if there did not fall thereon 

“The single tear which tear-worn eyes will shed,” 

it was because she came of a race whose women 
felt much and wept little, and because, for all 
womanhood there are some sorrows too deep for 
tears. 


CHAPTER XXVI 


“ two’s company ” 

Mr. Harris, it need scarcely be said, accepted 
Barkly Helstone’s invitation with alacrity, and 
they walked upstairs to the card-room. 

They rang the bell for a pack of cards and be- 
gan a game of picquet. The stakes were, of course, 
limited by the club rules. For once Barkly Hel- 
stone’s good fortune deserted him, as it may be 
supposed that Mr. Harris, though skilful at this 
particular game, was not a finer player than his 
redoubtable opponent. 

Barkly Helstone looked at his watch. “ t must 
really go, my dear fellow. How well you play! 
You must give me my revenge, you know. What 
are you doing to-morrow night, eh? Nothing? 
Well, what do you say to a little dinner at my crib? 
Will you come, my dear boy? ” 

‘‘ With pleasure,” stammered Albert Harris, 
with head awhirl. 

He lingered in the club after Helstone had gone. 
He ordered a whisky-and-soda, for he felt exceed- 
ingly happy. He ordered yet another, and felt 
even more elated, and then he sallied forth into the 
warm evening air shod with the winged sandals of 
Mercury. 

Elated? Of course he was elated. He had held 


258 THE SWEETEST SOLACE 

his own with Barkly Helstone. He was going to 
dine with Barkly Helstone. Barkly Helstone had 
actually called him his “ dear boy.” His own so- 
cial position would henceforth be undisputed. And 
yet Gwendolen Merry dew persisted in speaking to 
that wretched Rowly boy, whose father had never 
ventured to court election to the East Whitshire 
Club. That was not the woman to rise with him. 
Then, how fat she was! He was beginning to 
hate fat women. The verdict of society was 
against obesity. 

Accordingly, he was educating himself to the 
slim variety. In the midst of these communings 
he suddenly stopped. Hulloh 1 Who was that 
ahead? It was a young lady who was certainly 
not of the class whom Mr. Harris was beginning 
to loathe, but was, on the contrary, slim, and tall, 
and graceful. He knew that figure; it was Miss 
Francis, from next door. He hastened his steps, 
and in a few seconds had caught up Margaret, 
who, having hurried to the General Post Office to 
catch the late mail to the colonies, was returning 
quietly to Gascoigne Square. 

“Hulloh! Miss Francis! You remember me. 
Mr. Harris, from next door. I’m just going your 
way — to the office, you know — and I’ll give you 
the pleasure of my society.” 

“Oh, pray don’t trouble!” replied Margaret, 
without turning her head and quickening her steps. 
“ I’m in a hurry, and walk very rapidly.” 

“ My legs are pretty long, too,” replied the 
clerk, with airy badinage as he caught her up. 


TWO’S COMPANY” 


259 


“ And you know,” he added, with a seductive leer, 
“ pretty young ladies should not be out so late — 
without an escort.” 

“ I am not a young lady,” she replied curtly. 
“ I am a schoolmistress.” 

“ Well, you’re pretty. You know you’re pretty. 
We’ll agree on that point, anyway,” continued 
Harris in the grand manner. 

“Would you mind going on? No doubt you 
are in a hurry and can walk, as I can see, quicker 
than I can.” 

She suddenly stopped dead. He stopped too, 
and with an air of insolence, looked into her face. 

With a gesture of annoyance she hurried on, 
only to find him once again at her side. 

He came yet closer; the vicious leer in his eyes 
intensified, and Margaret, in her dire extremity, 
was fain to have broken into a run, had she not 
seen at that moment Lord Streybridge coming out 
of Gascoigne House. He turned on the steps and 
looked down Tremlett Lane. He had quick, keen 
eyes, trained in deer forests and at covert-side. He 
saw through the evening’s shade the man’s im- 
portunity, the girl’s futile effort to escape. Instead 
of crossing to the Square, he walked rapidly 
through Tremlett Lane, and in a few seconds had 
met them face to face. 

“ Plow do you do. Miss Francis? You are out 
rather late. Can I have the pleasure of seeing you 
to your house? ” 

“ Oh, thank you. Lord Streybridge, if you would 


26 o the sweetest SOLACE 


just take me to the entrance of the Square I can 
run across quite easily.” 

“ Oh, I offered to do that, my lord,” said Har- 
ris genially. “ First in the field, you know.” 

Lord Streybridge took no heed of the clerk’s 
pleasantry, and replied, with frigid politeness: 

“ I had something to discuss with Miss Francis. 
I can take the opportunity of mentioning it now.” 

Harris looked at him. A look of sudden intelli- 
gence passed over his smirking face. He chuckled 
appreciatively. “ I see, my lord, two’s company, 
eh? I understand.” 

“ I beg your pardon, sir,” cried Lord Strey- 
bridge, with a ring of anger in his voice. 

Margaret looked up at him, and so piteous was 
the mute appeal that Lord Streybridge contented 
himself with saying, “ Good evening, Mr. Harris.” 

The clerk walked on a few yards. At the en- 
trance of the Square he turned and looked over his 
shoulder, with an expression of indescribable im- 
pudence. His steps slowed down; he lingered be- 
neath the windows of Gascoigne House. 

“ I must take you to your home, I see,” Lord 
Streybridge said gravely. 

She gave a little moan of misery and nodded her 
shapely head. 

Harris at once proceeded on his way, when he 
saw further pursuit was futile. They walked with- 
out speaking to the little school. Margaret opened 
the door with a latch-key, and turning on the 
threshold was about to thank him, when Lord 
Streybridge entered and closed the door after him. 


TWO’S COMPANY” 


261 


“ Oh, do not come in ! ” she protested. 

“ I will not stay more than a minute. How long 
has that fellow been pestering you? ” 

“ Not for long,” she answered, “ but long 
enough to frighten me.” She entered the children’s 
dining-room — now empty. By the dim light he 
could see her cheeks aflame. She leant against the 
mantel-piece, and a little shudder shook her frame. 

“ Never mind what he said,” exclaimed Lord 
Streybridge, rightly interpreting her thoughts. 
“ He’s what we used to call at school ‘ a cad.’ And 
John Gascoigne actually induced me to back him 
for the East Whitshire Club. To think that any 
man should speak like that in the presence of a 
lady ! ” Then he added, as he drew a little nearer, 
“ I am afraid when Mr. Cox is away you have no 
one to protect you.” 

“ Chance is kind, sometimes, it would seem,” she 
replied, with a smile of gratitude. “You proved 
a good friend to me to-day.” 

“ I would my friendship were more frequently 
put to the test.” 

“ And you have been very kind to me, especially 
about — about — that other matter,” said Marga- 
ret. 

“ Ah, yes. Rex Gascoigne is staying with me 
for a little visit. I am sure he will study your 
sister’s welfare for the future. I am afraid. Miss 
Francis, you have not had the happiness a girl of 
your age should be entitled to, if you think so 
much of what little I have done. I only wish there 
was anything more that I could do for you.” 


262 THE SWEETEST SOLACE 


“ The very kindest thing you could do for me 
at the present moment, is to leave me. Remember. 
I am surrounded by people who spend a good por- 
tion of their time talking about their neighbours.” 

“ ril go at once,” cried Lord Streybridge, hold- 
ing out his hand; “but before I go, promise me 
you will regard me always as a friend. I do not 
mean a friend in the ordinary conventional sense. 
I mean more than that. You and your sister seem 
to me to be in a very lonely, unprotected position. 
Cannot you look upon me as a real friend, upon 
whom you could rely in the hour of trouble or 
emergency ? ” 

Margaret opened her great eyes. Then she 
shook her head sadly. 

“ You are very kind. But that is impossible. 
My sister and I are necessarily lonely, and there 
is only one to whom we can look, and that is Mr. 
Cox. I cannot explain, but I thank you from the 
bottom of my heart.” 

She withdrew her hand, which had lain in that 
of Lord Streybridge’s perhaps longer than she had 
realised. He looked into her face through the 
deepening gloom. His words had touched some 
chord whereof he knew not. The grave eyes were 
wet with sudden tears. He made a gesture as 
though he would have come yet closer to her. She 
roused herself from reverie, and with an expression 
of anxiety looked towards the door. He at once 
left her. 

As the front door closed he looked across the 
Square. Two women’s heads were leaning out of a 


“ TWO’S COMPANY ” 263 

window opposite. They belonged respectively to 
Miss Alicia Marston and Mrs. Fetch. 

A sardonic little laugh fell on his quick ear, and 
a feminine voice remarked with precision : “ Thir- 
teen minutes, my dear.” 

“ What have I done ! ” he cried in an agony of 
self-reproach. “ It is from me she needs protec- 


CHAPTER XXVII 


A QUIET GAME. 

Albert Harris was not a particularly sensitive 
man and Lord Streybridge’s indignation failed to 
excite any corresponding shame. He assumed, 
after the manner of his kind, that the noble lord 
was having a little amusement at the expense of 
the attractive schoolmistress, and he was not the 
man to stand in another fellow’s way, especially 
when that other fellow was a peer of the realm. 
He had, moreover, something else to think about, 
to wit, the impending dinner with Barkly Helstone. 

He left the office betimes, dressed himself with 
scrupulous care and put a ten-pound note in his 
pocket (which, he little doubted, he would 
double), and hiring a cab was soon deposited at 
the little house on the outskirts of the city which 
the owner had contemptuously dubbed a crib, and 
was duly shown into a quaint, irregular room, half 
smoking-room, half library, in which Mr. Barkly 
Helstone was wont to receive his guests. 

At all times gracious and debonair, Mr. Hel- 
stone was especially so to-night. The puckers 
round his eyes were not observable in the artificial 
light; those eyes too, so blue and luminous, shone 
brightly; the lines round his mobile mouth were 
lost in a genial smile. 

264 


A QUIET GAME 


265 

“ Well, my dear fellow,” he said, “ I hope 
you’ve brought an appetite. For, what with the 
accursed rheumatism and the beating you gave me. 
I’ve quite lost mine. Ah ! dinner’s ready. Come 
along.” 

Barkly Helstone’s definition of a plain little din- 
ner might be regarded as relative. Certainly the 
repast to which Harris sat down was the most 
dainty he had ever eaten at a private table. He 
was hungry, he was happy, he did justice to his 
host’s culinary discretion. 

‘‘ How’s our friend Swannick to-day? ” enquired 
Barkly Helstone mid-way through the dinner . 

“ I have not seen him to-day.” 

“Eh, what! Away again? He’s too often 
away. You know the old saw, ‘ stick to your busi- 
ness and the business will stick to you.’ You stick 
to the business yourself, pretty tight,” he added 
significantly. 

“ I’m expected to stick a good deal tighter than 
is quite fair,” replied the managing clerk with 
some little indignation. 

“ Never mind. You’ll get your reward by and 
by. Between ourselves, there’s been a good deal 
of talk about Swannick’s repeated absences 
amongst his clients. Fellows say, ‘ When I go to 
Swannick’s office I have to see Harris. Good man, 
Harris. Knows my affairs a damned sight better 
than Swannick does, but why should I pay Swan- 
nick when Harris does the work? ’ ” 

“They say that?” said Harris eagerly. 

“ They do. Have some more of this cham- 


266 THE SWEETEST SOLACE 


pagne. It’s Ffeist ’84 Special cuvee — none for 
me, thank you, Charles. I’ll have a small whisky 
and apollinaris later. You stick it out, and Swan- 
nick must make you a partner, or — I should start 
an opposition shop.” 

Harris jumped in his chair. The idea had been 
in his mind night and day for the last six months. 
He felt he had become indispensable to Swannick 
— and Swannick was by no means indispensable to 
him. 

“ I’d help you,” continued Helstone. “ Swan- 
nick’s a very good friend of mine, but independable 
as a man of business. Nuisance going to your 
solicitor and find he’s gone racing! Now a man 
of your appearance and manner is bound to get on. 
Besides, you’re a member of the best club in the 
county — and the country gentlemen will rally 
round you like they once did round Swannick. 
Yes, mark my words, your membership of the East 
Whitshire will be your most valuable asset. Now 
finish the champagne and I’ll explain why.” 

Mr. Barkly Helstone’s explanation took some 
time and the dinner passed on. The port he pro- 
duced after dinner was a worthy successor to the 
champagne, and when they rose Mr. Harris’s spir- 
its were at the zenith. 

They adjourned to the sitting-room, which 
looked cheerful with the reflection of the candles 
upon the glasses of the sporting prints. The card- 
table was already opened. 

“ I daresay you won’t mind my sitting with my 
back to the fire,” said the host. “ I’ve an ache in 


A QUIET GAME 


267 

every bone of my body. Now, what shall we 
play? I thought, perhaps, you’d like ecarte for a 
change. Some people think that it is less of a 
gamble.” 

Barkly Helstone produced a couple of packs 
from a drawer, withdrew the necessary cards, and 
then said, “Well, what points shall we say — 
half-crowns, eh?” 

Harris gasped. The points at the club for pic- 
quet were only sixpence. He hesitated for a mo- 
ment, then, remembering that if he was successful 
his winnings would be increased five-fold, he nod- 
ded. 

The game progressed with varying fortunes. 
It was not long, however, before Mr. Harris rec- 
ognized that, whatever might be Helstone’s skill 
at picquet, at the game which he had suggested he 
was certainly an adept. In the twinkling of an 
eye' he grasped the potentialities of his hand. He 
knew exactly when to propose and when to play 
his hand, and, like most fine players, if he held a 
jeu deregie he invariably played. Also, as dealer, 
he knew no less accurately when to refuse. If he 
did not turn the king with suspicious frequency, he 
turned it quite as often as did his opponent. At 
the end of half an hour Harris had lost £4. 

“ Have a whisky-and-sody — and another cigar. 
It will help to* turn the luck.” 

“ Good whisky, this.” 

“ Best in Scotland. Sent to me by my old school- 
fellow, Lord Skye. Your deal.” 

The cards flashed and fell. Harris observed 


268 THE SWEETEST SOLACE 


how rarely his partner discarded and how frequent- 
ly this daring policy succeeded. 

He attempted the same tactics, but with less suc- 
cess. He had not learnt to recognise a jeu de regie 
like a flash of light. Three more sovereigns fol- 
lowed their fellows and the clerk began to feel 
nervous. He drained the tumbler beside him and 
felt better. 

“ Damned good whisky, Barkly, my boy.’’ 

For one brief second an awful gleam of anger 
flashed in the blue eyes. Then Barkly Helstone 
laughed. 

“ I said the best in Scotland. Help yourself I ” 

Barkly Helstone had scarcely touched the glass 
beside him. He needed no stimulant. His eyes 
gleamed like stars. His lips wore a curious mock- 
ing smile. 

“ I mark the king,” he said, “ that makes the 
vole ” 

“ I’m cleaned out,” exclaimed Harris, suddenly 
rising. “ I only brought £io.” 

“ Oh, my dear fellow, you mustn’t go. The 
luck must turn sooner or later. Here, between two 
gentlemen ” — he pushed a piece of paper towards 
Harris and drew forth a silver pencil-case, which 
he also tendered — “ we’ll play for another half- 
hour. I hate winning in my own house.” 

Harris eyed askance the sheet of virgin paper, 
then took a brave pull at the best whisky in Scot- 
land. He faced his adversary again. 

On and on they played, the silence being only 
broken by one or other declaring the king, or the 


A QUIET GAME 269 

customary questions of proposal, acceptance, and 
refusal. The paper was no longer virgin. 

Barkly Helston shifted his seat a little side- 
ways from the fire. The room was getting warm. 

“ I propose,” said Harris, surveying a shocking 
hand. 

“ I refuse,” replied his host, sweeping down the 
shocking hand with one but little better. 

“ What extravagant luck you’re having,” cried 
Harris petulantly a moment later, as Helstone 
turned the king for the third time in four deals. 

“ I am afraid I have,” replied his host. “ An- 
other vole, eh! Shall I jot it down?” 

The clock struck — that half-hour had passed. 
From the moment he had started on credit Harris 
had done nothing right. The flush had left his 
cheek; he was pale and trembling. 

“ I am afraid I owe you ” 

“ Twenty-six pounds, twelve and sixpence, Mr. 
Harris,” replied Barkly Helstone, rapidly totting 
up the figures. 

The terms of familiarity had ceased. Mr. Hel- 
stone’s voice, though soft and low as ever, had a 
minatory ring about it that Harris, despite the 
Ffeist champagne, the port, and the best whisky 
in Scotland, could not fail to appreciate. 

The amount of his indebtedness also served to 
sober the young man. What a fool he was to play 
a game of skill with a man like Barkly Helstone. 
He should have tried some game of pure chance. 
Chance, by Jupiter! He sprang to his feet; there 
was still that to be tried. He placed his hand on 


270 THE SWEETEST SOLACE 

a pack into which Barkly Helston had already re- 
placed the excluded cards and said: 

“ ril cut you double or quits.’’ 

Helstone hesitated. He had made close on £40 
— not a bad night’s work. He did not want to 
lose most of it by mere chance. 

“ Come,” said Harris. “ You don’t like winning 
in your own house, do you? ” The sneer was un- 
mistakable. Barkly Helstone’ s temper was never 
of the best. He nodded his head. 

Harris cut the pack, and execrated his fortune 
with vigour. He had cut the duce. His host 
turned up a ten. 

“ That’s fifty-three pounds five. Don’t you 
think I had better order your carriage? ” 

“ Again,” cried the frenzied clerk. He cut a 
seven. Barkly Helstone thought the chance was 
good enough. He cut an eight. 

“Close thing that — one pip. If you don’t 
mind, we’ll stop.” 

“ Once more,” cried Harris, with twitching fin- 
gers and dilated eyes. “ Only once. What I are 
you afraid? ” 

Helstone’s brow contracted. 

“There!” cried Harris with a screech of joy. 
He had cut a queen. It would, indeed, be a mir- 
acle if his adversary found one of the four kings. 
“ Cut, cut,” he cried. 

“ Pardon me, my friend,” replied his host, “ sup- 
posing I should happen to cut a king — are you 
in a position to send me a cheque for £215 to^ 
morrow morning? ” 


A QUIET GAME 


271 

Harris started. He was certainly not in a posi- 
tion to do anything of the sort. 

“ What has that got to do with it? I’m not in 
the least likely to be called upon to pay. Cut, I 
say.” 

“ It has everything to do with it? Unless you 
can pay me, I am afraid I must decline the unequal 
contest.” And with a quick sweep of his white 
hand he took the two packs up and flung them 
into a drawer. 

Harris looked up at him in speechless wrath. 
Barkly Helstone’s face was as hard as granite, and 
there was a cruel glint in the bright eyes which 
deterred Mr. Harris from saying that which rose 
to his lips. 

There was a moment’s silence and Barkly Hel- 
stone continued: 

“ I may presume, Mr. Harris, that if it may not 
be quite convenient for you to pay me £215 to- 
morrow morning, I may at least expect half that 
sum.” 

Albert Harris grew very pale. “ I cannot prom- 
ise to pay you the debt — by to-morrow morning.” 

Helstone shrugged his shoulders. “It is usual 
amongst gentlemen to settle up within four-and- 
twenty hours.” 

“ Settle up ! ” cried Harris passionately. “ Do 
you suppose the managing clerk of a provincial 
solicitor can produce over £100 at one day’s notice, 
eh, or half that sum? I’ll see Mr. Swannick and 
ask him to advance me half a year’s salary.” The 
words came with a gulp and would have touched 


272 THE SWEETEST SOLACE 

the proverbial heart of adamant. It did not touch 
his host’s. 

“You should have told me your position frankly 
when I asked you about the points,” replied his 
host in his soft, cruel voice. “ And remember, I 
did not ask you to cut the pack which has quad- 
rupled your debt. I must ask you, of course, to 
write a formal memorandum of the transaction.” 

He pointed to a writing-table and Harris sat 
down and wrote an acknowledgment of the debt. 

“ Now, sir,” continued Helstone, “ I need the 
money badly, and I have; no great belief in Mr. 
Swannick’s assistance. If you fail in that quarter 
you must make efforts elsewhere, for, of course, I 
shall expect a settlement within a week.” 

“ And if I fail? ” cried the clerk piteously. 

“ I am afraid there is only one thing that I can 
do. I shall place the matter before the Committee 
of the East Whitshire Club.” 

“ Well, and what can they do? ” enquired Har- 
ris. 

“ They would be compelled to expel you the 
club.” 

“ Expel me ! Why, that would mean the abso- 
lute ruin of all my professional prospects. You 
said as much yourself this very evening.” 

“ I know. That’s what makes it so sad and 
painful. But I have no option in the matter. I 
have a duty to my fellow-members. As gentlemen, 
we cannot allow a defaulter in our midst. But 
there, why should we dwell on sO' improbable a 
contingency. You will get the money all right.” 


A QUIET GAME 


273 


“ Expel me the club,” murmured Harris, as he 
saw all his hopes annihilated by this soft-voiced, 
inexorable aristocrat. He dropped into the chair 
in which Barkly Helstone had sat. Resting his 
head upon his hand he looked across the room. 
In the glass of an old sporting print opposite he 
saw the reflection of the ash-tray that had been 
at his own elbow all the evening. Could it be 
possible? He was about to look again when 
Barkly Helstone, leaning across him, quietly lifted 
the candle up and, having lighted the stump of a 
cigar, replaced it upon the mantel-piece. 

“ Your carriage is at the door. You under- 
stand; I give you ten days to turn round in. If 
you fail, I shall be most reluctantly compelled to 
‘ post * you at the East Whitshire Club.” 

IS 


CHAPTER XXVIII 


“arcades ambo” 

Excellent as was the private cuvee of the Ffeist 
champagne, superexcellent as was the whisky pre- 
sented to Barkly Helstone by the discriminating 
Earl of Skye, they unfortunately failed to assimi- 
late, and Mr. Harris, after a disturbed night 
wherein the four kings of the pack danced a pas de 
quatre before his disordered vision, rose with a 
racking head. The events of the previous evening 
crowded in upon him as he sat moodily eyeing a 
pair of dank poached eggs. With a shudder he 
thrust the dish from him, and finding he was half- 
an-hour late hurried down to the office. 

Mr. Swannick had already arrived, so the clerk 
knocked at the door to receive his instructions for 
the day. There was no reply, sO' Harris entered. 
Swannick was standing by the open safe, apparently 
engrossed in thought. He held in his hand a 
packet; the packet of notes, in fact, which Harris 
had seen deposited in the safe, so soon as Mr. 
Sheen had received his formal receipt. Harris’s 
quick eye observed that the packet seemed a good 
deal smaller than it had originally appeared. Of 
the identity of the package he had no doubt, for 
he remembered, at the time, that Swannick had 
placed it immediately on the top of the duplicate 
274 


“ ARCADES AMBO 


key of the safe which since the day when Swan- 
nick had removed that receptable from Robert Sef- 
ton’s office had always lain on the second shelf. 
For many months, from the moment he first 
thought of that possible partnership, every time the 
safe opened Harris had viewed that duplicate key 
with the eye of potential proprietorship. For 
some weeks it had been hidden by the little parcel, 
and lo I to-day it once more roused his sense of 
cupidity. Yes, assuredly, the package was that of 
Sheen’s notes, and no less certain was it that since 
the debtor’s visit it had become materially depleted. 
What could it mean? Had any portion of the 
money been placed in the bank or subtracted for 
investments, surely he would have been informed 
of such transaction in the routine of business. 

Swannick, after a rapid survey of the contents, 
replaced the package with shaking hands, and then 
turning, observed the clerk standing close to him. 
He shut the safe with a clang, and turned upon the 
clerk like a beast at bay. 

“ How dare you come in here without knock- 
ing?" 

“ I did knock, sir. You must have been too 
engrossed to hear me.” 

“ Humph ! You have only just come in? ” con- 
tinued Swannick, eyeing the other keenly. 

“ Only this very moment, sir,” replied Harris, 
with less truth than discretion. 

“ Ah, well. You’re late this morning.” 

“ I was dining out last night and — could I have 
a few words with you ? ” 


276 THE SWEETEST SOLACE 

Swannick looked at his managing clerk with 
curious eyes. There was evidently something 
wrong about the man. 

“Well, what is it?” 

“ I wanted to know if you could see your way 
to advance me £ioo.” 

“Advance you £ioo. More than a third of 
your entire salary. My dear man, why on earth 
do you want so much money? ” 

“ Well, sir, to tell you the plain truth, Mr. 
Barkly Helstone invited me to dinner last night. 
We played cards and I lost that sum.” 

“You played cards with Barkly Helstone? 
Were you mad? Don’t you know that his skill at 
all games is a byword? Why, there is not a man 
in the East Whitshire Club, with the exception of 
Charlesworth, the brewer, who would sit down to 
play with Barkly Helstone — especially in his own 
house. You must make an arrangement.” 

“ Have you ever known him take less than his 
pound of flesh?” asked the clerk bitterly. 

“ He must give you time,” persisted Swannick. 

“ He gives me ten days. He says he may have 
some money tO' find himself.” 

“He said that?” cried Swannick, with ashen 
cheek. He sat in his chair and thrust his hands to 
the bottom of his pockets. 

Was Barkly Helstone lying, or had he to find 
money? If, as he said, there was anything in 
form. Mermaid had the Great Portsdown Handi- 
cap at her mercy. He had £250 on at “ eights.” 


ARCADES AMBO 


Why should a man want money who in a few hours 
would have £2,000 in his pockets? 

“ Well, sir,’’ enquired Harris, who could no 
longer control his impatience, “ can you help me? ” 

“ I haven’t got the money,” said the principal. 

“ Not got £100,” replied Harris derisively, al- 
beit something in Swannick’s manner seemed to tell 
him that he was speaking the sober truth. “ Come, 
sir, you don’t mean to tell me the most fashionable 
solicitor in the county need turn round for £100? ” 

Swannick did not wish to drive Harris to de- 
spair. The fellow was too useful to him. So he 
turned to him with his usual engaging smile. 

“It is not always convenient to produce money 
on the spot. I have had some rather heavy rail- 
way calls recently. But in a few hours — this very 
afternoon, my dear fellow, I may be able to do that 
much for you.” 

“The Great Portsdown Handicap, eh, sir?” 
asked Harris demurely. 

“ Ah, there’s no taking you in. It is the Great 
Portsdown Handicap. I’ve had excellent informa- 
tion. I’ve backed a horse — heavily, for me — 
at a good price, and if it wins you shall have the 
money.” 

“ Might I know the name of the horse, sir, and 
about what time you will know the result?” 

“ The horse is Sir Robert Hurford’s Mermaid, 
and I ought to know the result at about a quarter 
to four. I should have gone to the meeting, or, at 
any rate, awaited the result at the club, if I had 
not got a letter this morning from that cursed old 


278 THE SWEETEST SOLACE 

bore, Sir Rainald Stanniford, saying he wished to 
see me this afternoon about two-thirty. You know 
how he sticks like a tentacle. So I have asked a 
friend to send me a wire from the course. In the 
meantime, we must possess our souls in patience.” 

Harris went to his room and sent out for a 
sporting paper. Mermaid’s chances were barely 
discussed. From whom had Swannick obtained 
his information? Could it have been from Hel- 
stone himself? He would not trust that smiling 
scoundrel a yard. And what if Swannick lost I 

Those problematic railway calls did not explain 
his employer’s “ shortness.” His financial position 
must be, indeed, precarious. And if Swannick — 
a man in difficulties, mind — had backed the horse 
to win a pot, the question arose, whence had he 
got the money? Whence, indeed! Instantly he 
bethought him of that shrunken package. But 
was it shrunken ? Had his eyesight — affected, 
possibly, by his overnight potation — deceived 
him ? Ah, he would give something for three min- 
utes alone with that safe open. If there was a 
shortage, by Jupiter I it wouldn’t be a question of 
a partnership, but of the terms he would accept. 

All the day he sat with beating heart and aching 
brow. About half-past two the expected client 
called. Harris heard Swannick’s genial voice wel- 
coming him. He did not leave until close on four. 
Then Harris heard Swannick calling for himself. 

“ Heavens above 1 ” cried Swannick. “ I thought 
that dreary old man would never go. Twenty to 
four,” he continued, looking at his watch. “ Race 


“ARCADES AMBO 


279 


ought to be run by this time.” He walked up and 
down the room impatiently. “ Here’s to-day’s 
Financier, Tell me if there’s anything of special 
interest. It will distract my attention — our atten- 
tion, I might say.” 

Harris took the paper and skimmed the contents. 
“Nothing much, sir, only one more copper. work 
put on the market.” 

“ Where ? ” asked Swannick sharply. 

“ At Bhopal, in India.” 

Swannick snatched up the paper and gave a lit- 
tle snort of satisfaction. Yes, there, in all the 
glories of flamboyant type, was the prospectus, with 
Macalister as managing-director of a good board 
and a Privy Councillor as chairman. The stock 
was issued at 105, and the leading article of the 
paper, which could throttle any company at 
pleasure, was a fervid eulogy of its hona fides, its 
resources, and its Board. 

Swannick took up the paper. This prognostica- 
tion of Bhopal Ltd. might stand him in good stead, 
if — well, if the worst comes to the worst. He 
folded the paper up carefully and unlocked a 
strong box which was lying on the office floor, and 
which bore upon its sides the legend “ Major-Gen- 
eral Gascoigne Deed.” Having opened the box, 
he remarked to Harris that General Gascoigne had 
been an original subscriber to the concern, and 
placed the copy of the journal on the top of the 
other documents. Before, however, he had with- 
drawn the key from the lock he heard in the Square 


28 o THE SWEETEST SOLACE 


without the shrill cry of the newspaper boy: 
“Winner! Winner!” 

Swannick endeavoured to control his excitement, 
but in vain. He could not wait for that private 
telegram when the news upon which his fortunes, 
nay, possibly his very liberty, depended, was with- 
in forty yards of him. Bareheaded he rushed out 
of the room and into the Square. 

Scarcely had he passed the door when Harris 
knelt beside General Gascoigne’s strong box and 
detached the bunch of keys which Swannick in his 
excitement had forgotten. Quickly he selected that 
which opened the safe. He knew it well. Swiftly 
and deftly he opened the heavy safe and seized 
the package of notes. But his clammy hands 
shook, and the outer covering seemed to rustle like 
millions of leaves in a thunderstorm. He heard 
on the pavement without the sound of Swannick’s 
returning footsteps. He could not possibly count 
them then. An inspiration seized him. He 
snatched out of the safe the duplicate key, replaced 
the package, locked the safe, and had re-inserted 
the key in General Gascoigne’s strong box before 
his employer re-entered the room. 

Harris looked up, and at one glance realised that 
whatever horse had won the big race, it was not 
Sir Robert Hur ford’s Mermaid. For rage, disap- 
pointment and despair were written on that fren- 
zied face. Silently Swannick handed his clerk the 
paper, and Harris read in the stop press news that 
the Great Portsdown Handicap had been won by 
Sir Robert Hurford’s Spinaker. 


CHAPTER XXIX 


MEDIATION 

Lady Armine, having pledged her word to Rex 
Gascoigne that she would try and ascertain from 
Miss Francis what were the true reasons for her 
sister’s attitude, proceeded to fulfil her promise 
without delay. Accordingly, in a day or two Mar- 
garet received a kind little letter to the effect that 
the gardens at Helstone Towers were beginning to 
look lovely, and as both Lord Streybridge and Mr. 
Gascoigne had engagements in Whitborough on 
the following day, it would be good of them to 
take compassion on her solitude and come to lunch- 
eon. 

“ Ah, Lady Armine is trying to discount her 
brother’s indiscretion. But it’s too late, eh, dear? ” 
observed Alicia Marston to her friend Mrs. Fetch, 
when they saw next morning a victoria and pair at 
the door of the poor schoolmistress. 

Unconscious of criticism, the two girls, who were 
genuinely touched at the kind thought, were soon 
bowling through the pleasant country lanes. The 
sun shone brightly, and the rapid motion brought 
the colour back to their cheeks. On the steps lead- 
ing to the hall stood Lady Armine, waiting to re- 
ceive them. As they entered the hall — which had 
so excited Benjamin Cox’s democratic contempt — 
281 


282 THE SWEETEST SOLACE 


Jessamine opened her great eyes and looked won- 
deringly round her. On every side she saw relics 
and trophies of every epoch of our. national life 
since the Middle Ages. 

Lady Armine was leading them across the hall 
tO' the morning-room, when she observed the en- 
grossed expression of her visitor’s face, and was 
fain to enquire: 

“ Are you interested in all these old things? ” 

“ Oh yes. We have nothing like this in Aus- 
tralia. It is all so romantic, and I suppose romance 
— real romance of which one reads — is dead.” 

“ I think not. These trophies represent but one 
side of romance — the more ignoble side, some 
would say. Romance is always existing, so long as 
men and women are prepared to make sacrifices for 
an ideal. Moreover, many of the trophies were 
taken in comparatively recent times. This culverin 
came from Preston Pans. That sword belonged to 
Humphrey Helstone, who was killed in the last 
charge at Fontenoy. That helmet with the horse- 
hair plume covered the head of my father’s great- 
uncle at Waterloo, and that rifle was wrested by 
my great-uncle from a Russian private at Inker- 
man.” 

“And oh! what is that?” cried Margaret, as 
she pointed to a small teacup and saucer which 
stood on a little bracket in the centre of a great 
trophy of eastern arms. 

“ That belonged to my Aunt Cecilia — my fa- 
ther’s eldest sister. It is the cup in which she gave 
her husband his tea each morning in the siege of 


MEDIATION 


283 

Lucknow. She died soon after the siege, long be- 
fore I was born. But we treasured the cup, for it 
told of a woman’s duty bravely done. Her portrait 
is in the picture gallery.” 

“ I should so like to see it,” said Jessy. 

They crossed the hall, traversed a corridor and 
entered a large room lit from above by a lantern. 
All round the room hung portraits of the family 
of Helstone. Lady Armine led them to a picture 
of a delicate high-bred looking woman dressed in 
the rather unattractive fashion of Mid-Victorian 
time. 

“ That was my aunt. She was a good woman, 
and it is well for us to have her face to look upon. 
I think I may say with truth that our family has 
been fortunate in its womenfolk. Nor,” she con- 
tinued, looking round the room, “ have we been 
less fortunate in our daughters by adoption. We 
have had no scandals, nor have ever had to wel- 
come into our ranks women with unpleasant stories 
or mysterious pasts. And so the wall of honour 
has been kept pure and undefiled — but I am 
afraid I am tiring you,” she said hurriedly, as she 
noticed her guests looked rather grave. 

“ Oh no ! It is most interesting,” cried Marga- 
ret, but her hostess would not hear of their stand- 
ing any longer, and conducted them forthwith to 
the morning-room. There they sat until luncheon 
was served. Lady Armine tried to make them 
happy and at ease, but ever and anon Margaret 
saw her steal a curious wistful look at the beautiful 
young girl beside her. 


284 the sweetest SOLACE 

So soon as luncheon was over she led them into 
the garden. The sun shone through the tender 
leaves, and they were soon absorbed in all the 
beauties of an English garden. 

“ You are fond of flowers, I hope. Miss Fran- 
cis,” she said to Jessamine. 

“ I love flowers above all things,” replied the 
girl, “ but then,” she added, with a little laugh, 
“ I have seen so few beautiful flowers since I left 
my home in Australia.” 

“ I think I can show you some,” said Lady Ar- 
mine. “ Here, McBean,” she continued, calling 
through the window to a gardener, “ take this lady 
to the tropical house.” 

“Won’t you come, Maggie?” cried Jessamine 
eagerly. 

Margaret was about to follow, when she caught 
the expression of Lady Armine’s face. She waited 
behind and said, “ I’ll follow you in a minute, 
Jessy.” 

“ You have a quick sense of perception. Miss 
Francis,” said Lady Armine. “ Yes. I did wish to 
speak to you. Well,” she continued, looking her 
guest fairly in the face, “ you have kept your 
promise to me and I thank you.” 

“ I am glad if my remaining in Gascoigne Square 
has proved a source of comfort or satisfaction to 
you.” 

“ I am afraid it is only to me that it has proved 
a source of satisfaction, though, for the matter of 
that, if the gossips of Whitborough knew the na- 


MEDIATION 285 

ture of Rex Gascoigne’s confidences to me, it is not 
my name they would be coupling with his.” 

Margaret looked up at the speaker with question- 
ing eyes. 

“You know,” Lady Armine proceeded, “ Rex, 
ever since he was a boy at Eton, has regarded me 
as a sort of foster-mother. There are some men — 
sympathetic men — who must have someone to 
confide in, so Rex has thought fit to confide in me. 
He tells me he has asked your sister to marry him ; 
that he knows she cares for him, and yet she will 
not marry him, nor will she vouchsafe a reason. 
Not only is he most distressed at her refusal, but 
he is quite unable to account for her reasons. One 
of the objects I had in asking you here to-day, 
apart from the very sincere one of giving myself 
pleasure, was to find out from you, if I could, on 
Rex’s behalf, what is the real reason of your sis- 
ter’s strange and unaccountable attitude.” 

“ I am one of the reasons,” replied Margaret 
firmly. “ I do not wish my sister to marry Mr. 
Gascoigne.” 

“ Surely you like him,” said Lady Armine. 
“ He is ” — she paused and then went on — “ he 
is a man whom some women would like to marry.” 

“ He is everything a woman could desire, and 
more than most women deserve,” replied Marga- 
ret, “ and yet I do not wish my sister to marry 
him.” 

Lady Armine forebore to reply. Indeed, there 
was nothing to say. She had made her effort. It 
had failed. 


286 


THE SWEETEST SOLACE 


“ You think me unreasonable, I can see,” con- 
tinued Margaret in her low, gentle voice. “ I am 
not really so. But there are some women for whom 
marriage is not. Such women are we.” 

“We!” repeated Lady Armine. “Do you 
mean that you would not marry? ” 

“ If I did not love a man I would not marry him. 
If I did love him, still less would I wish to marry 
him. My sister loves Rex Gascoigne, but she 
cannot marry him. She does not know why I wish 
it to be so. It is enough that she knows my de- 
sires, and has implicit belief in the sincerity of my 
motives, and in my judgment. If I give her pain 
now I shall save far worse pain hereafter. I felt 
all along that I was acting rightly. Something 
that you said this morning, quite by chance, has 
swept away any lingering doubts I may have had. 
The real reason for my action lies far deeper than 
my own wishes or caprice.” 

“ Of course,” cried Lady Armine, “ there is no 
necessity to tell me that. You love your sister too 
well. Might I, however, ask one thing more? Is 
the reason to which you allude ever likely to be re- 
moved? For if it be permanent it is only fair that 
Rex should know.” 

Lady Armine asked the question with a very- 
sincere desire for Rex’s happiness, and yet, such is 
human nature, there did fly into her pure heart a 
fleeting hope that if that barrier was immovable, 
and this beautiful girl passed out of Rex’s life and 
his love perchance grew faint, as does the love of 
even the best men, in that far-away future, to which 


MEDIATION 


287 


we all look, happiness, belated, long postponed, 
but still happiness, might await her. At once she 
thrust the thought from her as disloyal to the man 
she loved, and turned to her companion for a reply. 

Margaret turned the question over for some sec- 
onds before she made answer. In the abstract the 
reason was not permanent. If the innocence of her 
dead father could be proved, then might Jessy 
marry Rex; and, for the matter of that, she also 
could marry if haply any good man sought her 
love. But practically, how could that innocence be 
proved? Peggy Blackiston had broached the sub- 
ject of that court-martial both to Admiral Gas- 
coigne and Charles Marston. Neither had thought 
it expedient to discuss it. Why should the poor 
.woman’s peace of mind be disturbed by raking up 
this long-buried scandal ? 

How, then, could she herself hope to get that 
information, which, even if she had it, was of small 
value without friends, influence, or money ? 

She looked up, to see Lady Armine awaiting her 
answer. 

“ In a sense the reason might disappear, but it 
is so unlikely that only unhappiness could ensue 
from cherishing the hope. The subject is a very 
sad one. Shall we join my sister? ” 

They spent an hour or more amidst the beautiful 
flowers and strange exotic plants, and then went 
out on the lawn. Jessy lingered awhile, as if 
loth to leave the flowers she loved. 

Whilst they stood upon the velvet lawn Lord 
Streybridge came striding across the lawn, and 


288 THE SWEETEST SOLACE 


greeted the schoolmistress with his most courtly 
grace. 

“Have you seen the view from the terrace?” 
he asked. 

No, she had not. So, while Lady Armine went 
back to Jessamine, he led the girl to the great 
terrace. She looked down and saw the distant 
city, and the rolling woodlands between the golden 
meadows, where the kine stood knee-deep in the 
soft lush grass; the gleaming estuary that nar- 
rowed in a silver thread that wound in and out for 
miles through the valley. 

“ It is very beautiful,” she said in an awe-struck 
voice. “ Does all this belong to you? ” she asked. 

“ Most of it does. We have bought a good deal 
of land in recent years.” 

“ And everyone who lives on It is your tenant. 
What an awful responsibility I ” 

“I try to look after them as well as I can,” he 
replied rather humbly, “ but It is a responsibility.” 

“ Ah, well,” she replied, “ there are compensat- 
ing advantages. If you have the fate of others in 
your hands, you have their respect and gratitude 
when you act with justice and consideration. And 
you stand on a pedestal. If you* are criticised you 
are, at least, too high up to overhear the petty tittle- 
tattle and malignant gossip.” 

“ It sometimes comes round,” he said, with a 
laugh, as he thought of Benjamin Cox. “ And as 
for responsibility — it’s all relative. You have 
yours as I have mine.” 

“ I know,” she answered, with a smile. “ Even 


MEDIATION 


289 

this lovely day, amidst these beautiful surround- 
ings, I cannot help thinking that in a day or two I 
must see Mrs. Stanley on an unpleasant subject. 
One of my little pupils has developed certain un- 
pleasant traits of tale-bearing and the like, and I 
think she needs the discipline of the bigger school. 
Her mother — no friend of mine — will certainly 
object, but it must be done.” 

“ Oh, that needn’t trouble you. I received a 
note this morning from Mrs. Stanley, asking to see 
me at once. I can guess who the little lady is. 
I will introduce the subject and let the suggestion 
emanate from her.” 

“ No, no,” said Margaret stoutly. “ I must not 
delegate my responsibilities. I must carry my own 
burden.” 

“Mayn’t I help even to that extent?” he re- 
plied, with a shade of pique. 

“No, not even to that extent,” she answered 
gravely. “ My burden is, after all, not so very 
heavy, and occasional help would only make it feel 
heavier when the help ceased. My father, who 
I know had suffered greatly, yet was always hap- 
py and contented, used to say that there is only 
one source of relief in all our troubles, namely, 
the consciousness of having tried to act rightly; 
and this I strive to do. I see your sister beckon- 
ing to us. Shall we go in? ” 

19 


CHAPTER XXX 

MRS. Stanley's communication 

The words of the schoolmistress sank deep into 
Lord Streybridge’s heart, and as he drove his pha* 
eton into Whitborough the following morning he 
faced the problem boldly. Occasional help, of 
course, made the burden feel all the heavier as 
soon as the support was withdrawn. But if the 
support was not withdrawn? Lord Streybridge 
was a man whose whole nature abhorred sophistry, 
and he knew well enough there was only one way 
by which that help could be continuous. The mis- 
tress of a little school was not the companion he 
had imagined for himself. 

And yet, how from the very first he had been 
attracted by her and affected by her presence. The 
clear, candid eyes, the frank, fearless face, the calm 
self-possession, the unswerving sense of duty, ap- 
pealed to a sense of romance with which, like most 
high-spirited and imaginative men, he was largely 
endowed. Her very position — so lonely, so self- 
dependent — appealed to him, the more so in that 
she belonged to a class of life in whom good looks 
and a noble presence excite continuous envy and 
disparagement. 

How significant had been her reference to that 
pedestal whereon Fortune had placed him and 
290 


MRS. STANLEY’S COMMUNICATION 291 

where he could not hear the snarling of the critics 
below. “ Yes,” thought Lord Streybridge, as he 
drew up at the High School, “ birth and great 
wealth had certain disadvantages, but at least their 
possessors were protected from these petty pin- 
pricks.” 

So soon as he was shown into Mrs. Stanley’s 
sanctum that lady appeared. It was at once clear 
to her visitor that her usual self-possession had de- 
serted her. She commenced with embarrassment. 

“ I thought it best to see you personally. I do 
not think you would like the subject mentioned in 
correspondence. It is extremely awkward, but I 
think it best to state the cast plainly and without 
circumlocution. The fact is, I have received a 
complaint about your lordship.” 

“ About me ! ” cried Lord Streybridge, with 
kindling eyes. The pedestal was not so high, after 
all. 

“Yes, about you — from a lady in Whitbor- 
ough.” 

“Our old friend, Mrs. Fetch?” enquired his 
lordship. 

“ It is Mrs. Fetch,” replied the head mistress, 
bitterly. “ She affirms that a few evenings ago you 
visited Miss Francis, whilst the younger sister was 
out. That it is holiday-time, and, therefore, noth- 
ing connected with the school could have necessi- 
tated this prolonged and untimely interview; that, 
considering the social disparity between you and 
our employe, those are her words, my lord, there 
can be only one construction to put upon the inch 


292 THE SWEETEST SOLACE 

dent, and — well, I think you can guess the rest.” 

“Yes, I can guess the rest. She threatens to 
remove her engaging little daughter. So she says 
all that?” enquired Lord Streybridge quietly. 

“Of course, the obvious reply is that, despite it 
being holiday-time, you had some matter of busi- 
ness to discuss.” 

“ I did not go to see Miss Francis upon any mat- 
ter connected with the school.” 

“ Pardon my saying so,” said Mrs. Stanley, 
warmly, “ you ought to consider her very unpro- 
tected position. What answer can I make?” 

“ I have considered Miss Francis’s position. 
And as regards your answer to Mrs. Fetch, I will 
give you material for a complete answer before 
your evening post goes out.” 

With compressed lips he walked rapidly to Gas- 
coigne Square. He sent his name in to Miss 
Francis, and asked to see her at once, and alone. 

Margaret entered the room with frank smile 
and outstretched hands. So soon, however, as she 
saw his face she stopped short. 

“ Oh, Lord Streybridge, there is something 
wrong, I know. For you have the same expres- 
sion in your face that you had the very first time 
you came here. What is it? ” 

His face flushed with shame and he made no 
reply. 

“ You do not answer. Ah, I know now. You 
were seen leaving this house the other evening. 
Oh, why did you not go when I asked you? ” 


MRS. STANLEY’S COMMUNICATION 293 

“ I acted wrongly — inconsiderately — I 
know.” 

“ Someone has complained to Mrs. Stanley? ” 
Someone has. I daresay you can guess who. 
But it is a small matter. It is not for that that 
I have come to see you.” 

“ Then, what is it? ” she enquired, with a little 
gesture of weariness. 

“ I have come,” he replied, looking into her 
steadfast face with radiant eyes, “ I have come to 
ask you to marry me.” 

“ To marry you ! To marry you ! ” she cried, 
with a gesture of shame and despair. “ Are you 
mocking me? ” 

“ Mocking you ! ” he replied with spirit. 
“ Have you ever known me to mock anyone — 
much less a woman? ” 

“ No, no,” she cried. “ I should not have said 
that. It is most generous of you, but, of course, 
I see the whole position at a glance. Something 
has been said that affected my good name, and 
you have come to offer me the only reparation a 
gentleman can offer. It is very chivalrous of you, 
but, of course, the whole thing is impossible.” 

“ As I am a truthful man, I am asking you to 
marry me for the one and only reason which could 
impel a man of my character — because I love you. 
I loved you from that evening when I came here 
with my sister. As I drove here to-day the words 
you spoke on the terrace yesterday kept ringing in 
my ears. If you are lonely, let me share your 
life. If the burden be heavy, let me carry it. If 


294 


THE SWEETEST SOLACE 


envy and malice assail you, let me place you where 
it cannot reach you — by my side.” 

His voice rang in her ears tender and true. 
’Twas the first time In all her life that the lonely 
girl had heard the voice of love. 

She stood thinking, and he took her hand, and 
the act brought her back Instantly to the perilous 
position Into which she was drifting. 

“ Lord Steybridge,” she said gently, withdraw- 
ing her hand, “ I shall never, to my dying day, 
forget this hour. I shall never cease to be grate- 
ful to God that He has permitted me to hear kind 
words from a good man, but — It Is Impossible.” 

“Why Is It Impossible?” he cried impetuously. 
“ Could you not love me?” 

“ If I were an ordinary woman, living the usual 
conventional life, perhaps I could love you. Nay, 
I am sure I could, for you are the kindest man I 
have ever met. But neither I nor my sister are 
ordinary women, and from our lives we have to 
banish the love of man and all the happiness that 
it brings. That is why my sister has been obliged 
to' ask Rex Gascoigne not to distress her by press- 
ing his suit, and that Is why I have to stop my ears 
to your words o«f tenderness.” 

Margaret stopped and turned away her face, 
for she felt the hot tears running down her cheeks. 

“ I can say nothing,” said Lord Streybridge, 
“ unless you tell me more. I am a man. Per- 
haps I can help you ” 

For a moment Margaret did not answer. Could 
she tell her father’s secret to anyone? 


MRS. STANLEY’S COMMUNICATION 295 

Then her heart grew strong within her. This 
man would respect her confidence. He would at 
least pity her. Perchance he might prove to be 
that friend for whom she had craved, and without 
whose aid her own efforts tO' discover the man who 
had ruined her father’s life were vain. 

“ I will tell you,” she said in a low, strained 
voice. “ You have lived all your life in this neigh- 
bourhood. Have you ever heard of a man who, 
in his youth, lived in this very house. He was 
in the army, a brother-officer of Mr. Gascoigne’s 
father, .and his name was — Henry Carden?” 

Lord Streybridge started. He had heard the 
name, associated with some sad, long-forgotten 
scandal — a scandal referred to with bated breath, 
because the man had been loved, but the details 
of the case, if he had ever known them, he had 
long since forgotten. 

“ I have heard the name, but I remember noth- 
ing definite about the man.” 

“ He was, I repeat, an officer in the army. He 
was cashiered for committing a disgraceful and 
dishonest action.” 

“ Yes,” said Lord Streybridge, as the girl paused 
and clenched her hand against the cold mantel- 
piece. 

“ Lord Streybridge, I am Henry Carden’s 
daughter.” Her voice was calm, but it was the 
calmness of absolute despair. 

“Oh! good God! My poor, poor child!” 

Nothing he could have said could have touched 
her more. He did not shrink from her, nay, she 


296 THE SWEETEST SOLACE 

thought she felt his hand, but she steeled her heart 
and proceeded: 

“ I did not know it when I came here. The 
whole chain of circumstances came into existence 
through Mr. Cox sending your friend, Mr. Gas- 
coigne, to our station at Baroopna. It is a sad 
story, but it will comfort me to tell it you.” 

And in her calm, low voice, Margaret told the 
story of her father’s shame and how she had dis- 
covered it. As she concluded she gave a little sob, 
partly of grief, partly of relief, that the task was 
over. 

“ He was, perhaps, the victim of some awful 
mistake,” said Lord Streybridge, scarce knowing 
what to say to comfort her. 

“ ‘ Perhaps, perhaps,’ ” repeated Margaret, 
“Lord Streybridge, my father was innocent. He 
was the most contented man I ever met. He 
would never have enjoyed mental tranquillity if he 
had done that of which he was accused.” 

“ Margaret, dear Margaret,” cried Lord Strey- 
bridge. “ What matters ” 

“ Don’t, don’t I ” she cried. “ I know what 
you would say, but it cannot be. So long as my 
father’s memory is uncleared, so long must my 
sister and I remain as we are. Nothing you could 
say would alter my resolve.” 

“ Perhaps your father’s memory may be cleared, 
even after all these years,” said Lord Streybridge 
thoughtfully, after some minutes’ pause. “ Every- 
thing depends upon finding the man who gave evi- 
dence against him. John Gascoigne may remem- 


MRS. STANLEY’S COMMUNICATION 297 

ber his name, or Canon Marston may ; in any case, 
the report of the court-martial will lie in the ar- 
chives of either the War Office or the India Office. 
In both these offices I have influential friends. 
The man’s reco-rd will be discoverable, and pos- 
sibly some light may be thrown upon his subse- 
quent career. If that man be still alive, and pa- 
tience, energy and money can find him on the 
habitable earth, I will find him and force the truth 
from his lips.” 

“You are a kind, generous man,” she said with 
a piteous little smile, “ to champion the cause of 
a lonely woman.” 

“ You forget what it means to me,” he answered, 
pressing her hand toi his lips. “ If I am successful 
you will be no longer lonely.” 


CHAPTER XXXI 


PANIC 

The moment Thomas Swannick saw the result of 
the Portsdown Spring Handicap he knew that he 
was a ruined man. 

There were three days before Rex Gascoigne’s 
birthday, after which date, as may be remembered. 
Admiral Gascoigne had suggested that the whole 
question of Miss Blackiston’s settlement could be 
satisfactorily settled. It therefore behoved him 
to leave no stone unturned to obtain some propor- 
tion of the embezzled money. 

The next morning he was up betimes and went 
forth on his melancholy quest. 

Melancholy, in truth, for neither could the man- 
ager of his bank see his way to further leniency, 
nor were his friends of the card-table more amen- 
able. He called upon several clients, but they 
were obdurate, and felt more resentment than pity 
that the man whom they trusted with their affairs 
should be so careless of his own. 

There was now only one person to whom he 
could apply without publishing his embarrassments 
from the housetops. Barkly Helstone was not a 
generous man, but he might be touched by the 
misfortunes of his crony. 

Swannick found him, as was his wont, sitting in 
298 


PANIC 


299 


the bay window of the club smoking-room, study- 
ing the sporting papers over a cigar. Helstone’s 
reception of his friend did not appear exactly cor- 
dial. He gauged pretty accurately the cause of 
this matutinal call. 

“ Your tip for the Portsdown Spring Handicap 
did not come off,” Swannick commenced. 

“ No. I can’t make out how Bobby Hurford 
misinformed me. Anyway, I am glad I did not 
induce you to follow the tip.” 

“ I did follow it! ” cried Swannick passionately. 
“ What did you expect me to do? And, Helstone, 
I lost the devil of a lot — more than you did — 
I’m in a hole, and would you, like a good fellow, 
lend me £500? ” 

“ Impossible,” replied Helstone. “ I’m in a 
hole, too. Trodd had my last £250 and I don’t 
know where to turn for a stiver myself.” 

“You turned to one of my clerks,” answered 
Swannick bitterly. 

“ Oh, le pauvre Harris,” he said, with a laugh. 
“ A man of his temperament shouldn’t play ecarte; 
besides, perhaps he did not tell you, but he per- 
sisted in cutting me double or quits. I haven’t 
got his money and, as he informed me that he 
would have to look to you, we seem to be like the 
legendary ladies who lived by taking in each other’s 
washing. In short, I haven’t got the money.” 

At that moment a red-faced, burly man came 
up and said, “ You won’t forget our game on 
Thursday evening. I must get a bit of my own 
back. Dinner 8.15.” 


300 THE SWEETEST SOLACE 

The speaker was a wealthy lcx:al brewer, the 
Mr. Charlesworth whom Swannick had mentioned 
as the only man in Whitborough who was prepared 
to play cards with Mr. Helstone in the latter’s 
house. 

So soon as his back was turned Swannick glared 
into Barkly Helstone’s face and cried, “You have 
money.” 

The suspicion which once before assailed him 
came back with redoubled force. “ You have 
money, I say — I have been a good friend to you. 
You must give me some — ^£250 — anything.” 

“ This is not the way to speak in the club. If 
you keep threatening me — for that’s what it 
amounts to — I shall have to seek the protection 
of the committee.” 

He spoke in his bland, insolent, supercilious way, 
with a mocking smile lurking in the corner of his 
mouth, and his blue eyes dancing with laughter. 
Then Swannick no longer doubted that by an in- 
genious trick he had been sacrificed to the relent- 
less Trodd by this man — the friend with whom 
he had raced and gambled, and dined, and jun- 
keted. 

He rose, and gently cursed from the bottom of 
his heart the smooth-tongued rogue and the day 
he first ihet him. 

He returned to his. ofiice, sat in his chair and 
lit a cigar. Ruin was before him. Ruin and dis- 
grace. An even worse fate was only averted by 
this unexpected and fortuitous demand for the 
world’s copper. What a providential thing it was 


PANIC 


301 


that Macalister had not delayed the flotation of 
his company and that the shares had been steadily 
rising. For, though Admiral Gascoigne had met 
his jest with another, Swannick had little doubt 
that the grim old man would act exactly as he had 
suggested. If the loss fell for the most part on 
himself, then would Swannick still walk the earth 
a free man, but if Rex suffered, then he who was 
responsible therefor would pay the just penalty. 

That awful contingency need not be faced. Rex 
would not suffer. The money his father had sub- 
scribed to the Bhopal works, together with his 
present patrimony, would be ample to make him 
independent of his uncle’s bounty. The only dan- 
ger, then, lay in General Gascoigne’s entire con- 
tributions not being recovered. But, of course, 
they would be recovered, and more than recovered, 
as the shares were already at a premium. 

And yet would those contributions be recover- 
able? He sat back in his chair and began to 
tremble. In converting private concerns into 
limited liability companies the capital was based 
upon their profit-earning capacity rather than upon 
the sums spent before those profits were obtained. 
That was a mere commercial axiom. Why had 
it not struck him before? Everything seemed to 
strike him differently to-day. For the very first 
time a feeling of grave doubt seized him. He re- 
membered that General Gascoigne had at first with- 
stood the allurements of Macalister. It was not 
until his power of resistance had been weakened by 
illness, and Macalister had appeared to him in per- 


302 


THE SWEETEST SOLACE 


son, that he succumbed to the voice of the charmer. 
Was his previous obduracy due to the fact that 
the first contribution was not recoverable, or per- 
haps only a portion of it — that the game, in fact, 
was not worth the candle ? Oh ! it was too ter- 
rible to think of ! Swannick’s aching brain reeled. 
He rocked to and fro in his chair. He would not 
know the exact state of General Gascoigne’s re- 
lations with Macalister and the Bhopal works un- 
til Rex’s birthday, three whole days of twenty- 
four hours each — seventy-two hours in all of sixty 
minutes each, and every minute like a life-time! 
It was intolerable. No man could stand the strain. 

Charles Marston knew all the facts by this time. 
He had gone to London the previous day to have 
the long-deferred interview with Mr. Hodson. He 
was due to return mid-day to-day. Swannick felt 
he could not endure the suspense; he would take 
the bull by the horns. He would go to Charles 
Marston and ask him plump and plain how much 
of the money which General Gascoigne had sub- 
scribed to the Bhopal works would be recover- 
able from the new company. 

Marston could not refuse a categorical answer. 
He would tear the truth from the pedantic old 
dominie. 

He hurried across the Square and received an 
unexpected reply. Canon Marston had not yet 
returned. He had written to say he would be 
back by five o’clock that afternoon. 

Swannick returned to his office and sat watching 
the clock, second after seond, and smoking cigar 


PANIC 


303 

after cigar, to quiet his nerves. At last the clock 
Struck five. 

He rose and went again to the Canon’s house. 
The servant shook her head. Miss Marston had 
received a telegram to the effect that her brother 
had been unexpectedly detained; he would not be 
back until to>-morrow afternoon. 

“ I will leave a note for him,” said Swannick. 
It was imperative that he should see him the mo- 
ment he arrived. Before, indeed. Admiral Gas- 
coigne had been made acquainted with the result 
of the interview at Pryses. 

He was ushered into the library. The servant 
supplied him with writing materials and left the 
room. He sat down at Canon Marston’s writing- 
table, the writing-table in one drawer of which 
lay the document which might stand between him 
and the dock. 

He looked at the drawer, and, as a mere act 
of self-torture, almost mechanically pulled at the 
handles. It was locked, of course, as he had an- 
ticipated. He cursed the drawer, the lock, the man 
who had made the lock, everything, in fact, con- 
nected with it. To think that a mere quarter 
inch of Steel stood between him and the satisfac- 
tion of his frenzied curiosity. In rage and exas- 
peration he seized the handle of the drawer and 
gave a fierce tug. Then his heart almost stopped, 
for there was a sudden click, and lo ! the drawer 
followed his hand. The bureau was old; it had 
belonged to the Canon’s father; the lock was simple 
and archaic; the mechanism, worn by a century of 


304 the sweetest SOLACE 

constant use, had given way to the unusual pres- 
sure. In short, the drawer was open. 

Without a moment’s hesitation he plunged his 
hand in. Yes ; there was the blue-covered envelope 
— open at the end. He drew forth its contents. 
It was, of course, the white package he had seen 
before — endorsed with the General’s cipher, 
sealed with his personal seal. What would he give 
to open it. To handle it made the strain of 
baffled curiosity more intolerable than ever. By 
Heaven I he would open it. He would take it 
away and unseal it. The seal from which the im- 
pression was taken was lying in the strong box of 
his office. He could reseal it, call again before the 
Canon returned, presumably to write a second note, 
and replace it in the cover. The accommodating 
lock could be fiddled back into the catch. Who 
would be the wiser? He crammed the package 
into his pocket and slammed the drawer. With 
very slight resistance it slipped back. He then 
called the servant and, having told her that on 
consideration he would defer writing the note un- 
til the next morning if he did not in the meantime 
hear from her master, he hurried back to his own 
office. He locked the door, pulled down the blind 
of the window that commanded his writing-table, 
lest any prying eyes should see, and laid the pack- 
age down before him. 

Taking his penknife he slowly and carefully 
chipped away the seal without fraying or damag- 
ing the surrounding paper. Then he gently prized 
up the flap of the envelope, drew out some pages 


PANIC 


305 


of folded manuscript paper, and with a feeling as 
though a knife was slowly piercing his heart, he 
opened it out. 

Then he threw his hands up and smothered a 
cry of wild despair, for the document was headed : 

“ The True Story of Henry Carden, 
late an officer in Her Majesty’s Forces. 

His innocence and unmerited disgrace.” 

20 


CHAPTER XXXII 


OPPORTUNITIES 

SwANNiCK flung the packet down. What had the 
fate of this man Carden to do with the Bhopal 
Association? His anticipations were unfounded. 
His doom was sealed ! 

Then he took it up again, and from mere force 
of habit ran his eye through the opening page. 
He saw something therein which, despite his own 
most miserable plight, could not fail to arrest his 
attention. An overwhelming feeling of curiosity 
gripped him, which only increased as he proceeded, 
for this is how the document ran; 

“ Whereas I, Edward Gascoigne, a retired ma- 
jor-general in Her Majesty’s Army, have been 
lately visited by the hand of God, insomuch that I 
have good reason for believing that the days of my 
life are numbered, and whereas this paralytic stroke 
was, I know well, caused by a letter I received 
from my son immediately before my seizure, from 
which letter I gathered irrefutable evidence that 
Captain Henry Francis Carden, of my own regi- 
ment, and once my dearest friend, who was gen- 
erally supposed to have been drowned in the flood- 
ing of the Tonora Valley, was not so drowned, 
but is at this moment living, with his children, 
under the name of Henry Francis, at Baroopna, 
306 


OPPORTUNITIES 


307 

in New South Wales, I desire to place on record, 
signed by my own hand, and witnessed by a man 
of high character, the true account of Henry Car- 
den’s trial, sentence, and disgrace, thereby plac- 
ing at the disposal of him and his children proof 
of his innocence, and an admission of the guilt 
of me, Edward Gascoigne, for whom he, my 
dearest friend, sacrificed all that men hold dear. 

“ But, firstly, I wish to say that no suffering he 
has borne throughout his life of exile could have 
been greater than that which I have endured, with 
a conscience burdened with this secret; that night 
and day I have never ceased to have his unmerited 
wrongs before my eyes ; and I assert, as I hope for 
forgiveness in the world to come, that I would have 
assumed the responsibility of my actions, had it 
not been for the earnest solicitations of Henry 
Carden himself, who took the guilt upon himself, 
less, perhaps, for the sake of his friend than to 
save the life of one whom he loved more dearly 
than his good name or aught else under God’s 
sky. 

‘‘ This said, I, Edward Gascoigne, having my 
mind clear, notwithstanding my recent illness, and 
with perfect knowledge of what I am writing, do 
hereby set forth the true story of the emerald that 
was found in the well near Rawal Pindi. 

“ On the evening of the last attack upon the 
stronghold of the Ossiri tribe, when the fight was 
over and the various units were reforming, Henry 
Carden and I went forth up the long, steep hillside 
where the fighting had been most severe. A mist 


3o8 the sweetest SOLACE 

which had hung over the valley poured up the hill, 
and made it impossible to see more than a few yards 
in front of one. At the base of the hill we found 
the dhooley bearers carrying a private in our regi- 
ment named Webster. He was badly wounded 
and unconscious, but not mortally wounded, as it 
proved; indeed, had death ensued, Henry would 
be still wearing the Queen’s uniform, and this 
record had not been written. We had clambered 
up the rocky path a hundred and fifty yards or 
so, when we heard a faint moaning cry, and found 
wounded unto death another private in my own 
company named Blything. He was a curious, 
dour, silent fellow, whose time of service was al- 
most expired. He was near death and cried most 
piteously for water. I knew of a small water- 
course which ran down the hill higher up the 
path, so whilst Henry Carden supported him in his 
arms, I hastened to the stream and filled my water- 
bottle. There were several men, some slightly 
wounded, drinking at the stream, and they recog- 
nized me as I knelt amongst them. On my return 
I found Blything still alive, and whispering into 
Henry Carden’s ear. He drank the water eagerly, 
and it revived him. ‘ I am glad you’ve returned, 
Ned,’ said Carden at once; ‘ this poor fellow has 
been asking for you. He tells me he has some- 
thing to say to you. If you take my place I will 
go out of earshot, but not far, for the mist is 
thickening every minute.’ 

“ Blything was nigh spent as I took him in my 
arms, but I had a drop of brandy left in my flask, 


OPPORTUNITIES 


309 


and I moistened his lips. His eyes brightened, 
and he made that effort which dying men will do 
when they earnestly desire to unburden themselves 
of something. He told me in a faint but perfectly 
clear voice that as I had been kind to him as his 
captain, he ventured to ask me to fulfill this last 
request. Some time before he had invested his 
savings, and some money he had won in a foot race, 
in the purchase of a certain emerald, which he had 
bought for a small sum from old Sowar, of Hod- 
son’s Horse, who had looted it at the siege of 
Delhi. He had hidden it in a disused well, three 
miles southwest of the cantonments at Rawal 
Pindi. Dying as the man was, he was clear 
enough about the exact position of the cache. I 
had to enter the well by the steps that led down 
to where the water had once been, walk exactly 
three yards across the hard mud floor, turn at right 
angles to the right, walk another three yards, and 
then counting seven stones up from the base of the 
well I was to remove the eighth stone, behind 
which I should find the emerald. His voice was 
scarcely audible, but his mind was lucid and his 
purpose set. He repeated the measurements twice, 
and then asked me to sell the stone when occasion 
offered, and send the proceeds to his wife, who, 
not being on the strength of the regiment, was 
starving in a slum in Shoreditch. Strictly speak- 
ing, I should have refused, because the stone was 
loot. But it was common knowledge that after 
the taking of Delhi there was much loot taken, at 
which the authorities were obliged to wink. Be- 


310 THE SWEETEST SOLACE 

sides, according to his statement, Blything had 
paid honestly-earned money to the original looter. 
He was, moreover, at the point of death; refusal 
meant his leaving the world with the knowledge 
that his wife would be unprovided for, and so, 
rightly or wrongly, I consented. He pressed my 
hand, and in the course of an hour or so he passed 
away. Some months later the expedition returned 
to Peshawar. Harry and I were sent to Rawal 
Pindi on detachment, and I seized the opportunity 
to visit the well, which I had no difficulty in lo- 
cating. I fulfilled his directions, and endeavored 
to dislodge the eighth stone, which was covered, 
like its fellows, with dark herbage. The stone 
came out easily, and at the back of it, in a small 
cavity that had been graven out of the back with 
a knife, lay the emerald. I took it and returned 
to the city, intending to sell it as soon as I could 
get to a station, where I could obtain a good price, 
and send the proceeds to the address that Blything 
had given me. 

“Would that I had done so. 

“ In the meantime, my wife, whom I had mar- 
ried some months before the Ossiri expedition, had 
come to Rawal Pindi, and we expected soon the 
birth of a child. Unfortunately, a promise I had 
given to her before our marriage had not been 
fulfilled; and having recently lost a large sum of 
money in a disastrous speculation, I was induced 
to go behind my word, and to back a horse which 
Henry Carden and I, who raced in partnership, 
had entered for a race in an impending meeting at 


OPPORTUNITIES 


311 

Lahore. It was to be our last race before the 
partnership terminated. I felt the horse could 
not lose. Its victory would make me free from 
all embarrassments, but I had no' ready-money, 
and the few personal friends to whom I applied 
were most of them in the same position. I shrank 
from borrowing money from a native money 
lender at usurious interest. Now I was at that 
time as careless a young fellow as could be found 
in Her Majesty’s service, and when in the tempta- 
tion of the moment I resolved to raise some money 
on the emerald, I never doubted for one minute, 
even if the worst came to the worst and our horse 
was beaten, that I could redeem it within a 
few months of the race, long, in fact, before I 
should be in a position to sell it to any real ad- 
vantage in Simla or Calcutta. 

“ I thought, in fact, that I was doing that which 
might be technically illegal, but which involved no 
very great wrong; or rather, to be frank, I did not 
pass through any moral struggle. I was young, 
high-spirited, careless, and I wanted money dread- 
fully — money which I never for one moment 
doubted would enable me to do the best for my 
poor wife in her impending trouble. 

“ Now I had had previous dealings with a man 
in the bazaar, at Lahore, who would advance the 
money at reasonable interest, but I could not leave 
my wife at that moment. I resolved, therefore, 
to get Harry to* negotiate the loan. I knew he 
would be inquisitive as to my possession of the 
stone. I knew if he associated it with Blything he 


312 


THE SWEETEST SOLACE 


would refuse to touch it, for he was, of all men, the 
most scrupulous in such matters. I also knew that 
if he thought the stone had been recently hidden 
in the well by anyone, he would assume that it had 
been dishonestly acquired, and refuse his aid in 
the transaction. Yet that aid was indispensable. 
At my wits’ end I determined to enlist his sym- 
pathies by a very simple subterfuge. I replaced 
the stone in the well — not in its former position, 
for that particular hiding-place was far too elab- 
orately prepared. Accordingly, I concealed it 
among the thick herbage, covering it with dirt 
and mould. When I had finished it might have 
lain there for forty years. 

“ That evening, when smoking a cheroot to- 
gether, I told him, quite casually, that when out 
shooting in the afternoon I had entered a disused 
well in pursuit of a snake, and that hidden amidst 
the undergrowth I thought I saw something which 
looked uncommonly like a precious stone; but that, 
as my native shikhar was with me, I had taken 
care not to draw any attention to it. I was en- 
gaged next day; would he go and look for me? 
I described its position exactly, and, of course, next 
evening he produced it out of his pocket. At once 
I hailed it as the unlooked-for means for our de- 
liverance. He should take it hot foot to Lahore, 
and we could place the proceeds on our horse. 
But even acquired under these most innocent cir- 
cumstances, Harry would have none of it. Valu- 
able emeralds are not hidden in wells by the right- 
ful owners. Be sure it was stolen property. I 


OPPORTUNITIES 


313 

contended that it was probably loot. Since the 
mutiny India was full of concealed loot, which was 
always regarded as treasure-trove, and which the 
finder stuck to with a perfectly clear conscience ; 
that we were in a financial hole, and that anything 
like pressure from our creditors would be fatal to 
my wife, whose condition was even then most pre- 
carious. At the mention of her name Harry con- 
sented, against his wishes and against his prin- 
ciples. 

“ He went to Lahore, borrowed quite a small 
sum on the jewel, which he left, of course, with the 
bazaar-keeper. The Lahore races came off; our 
horse won. I had ample means to pay all my debts 
and provide for all the wants of my delicate wife, 
and, above all, to redeem the emerald. No man 
sat down to dinner that evening with a lighter heart 
than Edward Gascoigne. But I should not have 
thought of dinner, or anything else, until I had the 
emerald once again in my possession; for it hap- 
pened that, some time before, it had come to the 
ears of the Government that the money-lender in 
question had been tampering with some corre- 
spondence sent down from Peshawar to the secret 
service officer at Patiala, and they seized the oppor- 
tunity of the races, when the bazaar would be 
filled with every kind of native rascal, to raid his 
establishment, and to submit the entire contents to 
the closest scrutiny. No' incriminating correspond- 
ence was discovered, but he was asked to explain 
the possession of the emerald, which was recog- 
nised by one of our spies as a jewel that had been 


314 


THE SWEETEST SOLACE 


stolen from an Afghan nobleman whilst staying 
at Peshawar. Some English soldiers had been sus- 
pected, but owing to frontier troubles the matter 
had not been gone into. Blything had been sent 
to Peshawar on a subaltern detachment, and 
neither I nor Henry Carden had ever heard of the 
loss of the Afghan noble’s jewel. It was quite 
clear that Blything, for love of his wife, had gone 
to eternity with a lie upon his lips. 

‘‘ The bazaar-keeper naturally denied any com- 
plicity, and produced the documents connected with 
the loan. At once Henry Carden was asked to 
give an explanation. 

“ Under ordinary circumstances he would have 
told the plain and simple truth, namely, that I had 
discovered the jewel in the well and sent him to 
find it. He was reluctant to take that course, be- 
cause it would naturally have shifted the onus of 
explanation on me, a course which would have been 
fraught with the gravest danger to my wife, for in 
a very few days our son was born. 

“ He, therefore, took the entire responsibility 
upon himself, asserting that he had found the stone 
in the disused well, and thought he was justified in 
keeping it. He was very severely reprimanded, 
but in consideration of his excellent record and his 
service during the recent campaign no further steps 
were taken. 

“ In the meantime our boy Rex was born. My 
wife lay for weeks between life and death, and, 
when the immediate danger was passed, her health 
was so precarious that she was ordered a life of 


OPPORTUNITIES 


315 

absolute tranquillity, and I was assured by the 
doctors that the slightest over-fatigue or excitement 
would inevitably result in cerebral complications 
and possibly death. Just then, when her life hung, 
as it were, upon a thread, a most strange, terrible 
and unexpected complication ensued. Webster, 
the private soldier whom we had seen carried down 
the hillside in the dhooley, returned from hospital, 
where he had lain for all these months. He heard 
of Captain Carden’s recent trouble, and after two 
days went straight to the colonel. 

“ He said that the night before the action Bly- 
thing, having a premonition of impending death, 
confessed that he had stolen an emerald from an 
Afghan noble’s tent one evening, when on detach- 
ment at Peshawar, and had hidden it behind a stone 
in the wall of a disused well. He gave Webster 
a paper with the exact bearings of the cache, and 
asked him if he were killed next day to sell the 
stone and forward the proceeds to his wife. No 
man could have found the stone without knowing 
these measurements, so ingeniously was it hidden. 
And after he himself was knocked over, Blything 
was seen lying in Captain Carden’s arms and whis- 
pering In his ear. Finally, he handed the colonel 
the paper Blything had given him, and he invited 
the colonel to visit the well, as he himself had done, 
follow the measurements, and see for himself the 
cavity In which the stone had lain. 

“ The colonel did so, and Henry Carden was re- 
arrested on a much more serious charge. 

“ We had, of course, more than one interview. 


3i6 the sweetest SOLACE 

I wished — God knows I wished — to make a 
statement that would have exculpated Harry from 
the more serious charge of having stolen the 
emerald, though it is doubtful if he would have 
escaped some punishment for having omitted to 
tell the whole truth at the outset. I say I wished 
to confess, even though my defence that Blything 
had misled me as to the source of his possession 
would at that juncture have availed me little. It 
was Harry Carden who implored me to stay my 
hand. My wife was hovering between life and 
death. I thought he had cared for her in the 
past. Indeed, I knew, by that intuition by which 
every man who loves a woman is conscious of the 
presence of a rival, and he knew that if I had sur- 
rendered myself, then would she have died. 

“ So things stood when the second court-martial 
came on. My wife was overwhelmed at the ap- 
proaching ruin of the man for whom we both 
cared so much. Nevertheless, I resolved to tell 
the truth. 

“Harry realised my intention and pleaded — 
guilty. The court rose, Harry Carden was led 
away, and I rushed home, utterly distracted as to 
what I should do. My wife had a relapse. I was 
dispatched up to the hills there and then ; my con- 
tinuous presence with her was imperative, and 
when I was able to leave her and to hurry back to 
Rawal Pindi, the sentence had been formulated by 
the Commander-in-Chief, and Harry Carden had 
been cashiered. 

“ They spared him imprisonment, and he left 


OPPORTUNITIES 


317 


India, taking nothing but his favourite saddle, 
and went forth, God knows whither. His last act 
in that country was to go to my empty bungalow 
and take an old volume of Handley Cross, which 
we had laughed over as lads together. 

“ Soon after I heard of his death in California, 
for he did not change his name, and carried his 
head as proudly as ever, and I mourned my friend 
and cursed my vacillation and perfidy. 

“ The years passed. My dear wife died, doubt- 
less in consequence of all the piteous tragedy. My 
child went home, and with heavy heart I fulfilled 
the tasks allotted to me not without distinction and 
success. But before me ever was the fate and 
sorrows of Harry Carden. A few weeks ago I 
received a letter from my son, dated from a sta- 
tion in Australia, describing the man with whom he 
was staying. It was a long letter, full of minute 
and detailed description, and from a variety of 
facts he mentioned — notably this Mr. Francis’s 
mode of speech and of thought, the interest he 
showed in all things appertaining tO' Whitborough 
and the Gascoigne family, his seat on a horse, and 
particularly the shape and construction of his sad- 
dle, his love for certain authors like Lamb, Mon- 
taigne and George Herbert, the coincidence that 
his name was the same as the two Christian names 
of my poor friend, and, above all, that always on 
the table by his bed-head was a battered volume 
of ‘ Handley Cross,’ the fly-leaf of which was torn 
out — from all these particulars, I say, I am con- 


3i8 the sweetest SOLACE 

vinced that Henry Francis was not drowned, but 
still lives. 

“ It is upon that presumption that I, Edward 
Gascoigne, have made this statement, which will 
be placed in sure hands, and will be dealt with in a 
manner which I shall subsequently arrange. 

“ But before I lay down my pen, I would fain 
declare that my sin and perfidy was not due to my 
badness of heart or natural treachery, but was 
solely caused at the outset by my inborn love of 
gambling — a passion I have never been able to 
eradicate, but which has perhaps proved an ano- 
dyne to my aching heart. Let the accursed fever 
die with me. It was through the specious tongue 
of a speculative engineer that I lost the money 
which induced me to think of raising money on 
that emerald. Hope dies hard in the hearts of 
sanguine men, and a specious tongue will never 
cease to be specious so long as it wags. I thank 
God I have taken steps whereby he whom I love 
best shall not fall under its subtle spell. 

“ (Signed) Edward Gascoigne. 

“ Witnessed by Charles Marston, M.A., 

“ Clerk in Holy Orders.” 

Swannick, despite his awful disappointment, 
read the story of a man’s shame and remorse with 
an increasing interest, until he came to the last 
paragraph, and then he cried aloud in his despair. 
The inference was unmistakable. General Gas- 
coigne, rather than allow Rex to be initiated into 
the perilous delights of financial speculation, had 


OPPORTUNITIES 


319 


surrendered his share of the original syndicate to 
Macalister. It was for that generous gift of £6,- 
000 (for so he would regard it) that the san- 
guine engineer thanked him so profusely, and in 
return whereof he desired to give some portion of 
the prospective spoils to the donor’s son, if haply 
that donor could overcome his feelings of reluc- 
tance to share, even posthumously, in the inevitable 
triumph. 

But where was the £6,000 General Gascoigne 
drew the day after Macalister called? It was 
gone, absolutely, irretrievably. There was no 
trace of it, and as Swannick thought of that in- 
evitable interview with Admiral Gascoigne, when 
his confession must be made, his face grew ashen 
grey. For though the old man had spoken in 
apparent jest, Swannick knew him too well and 
knew his love for Rex too well to expect any 
sentimental leniency. Nothing had he to hand 
whereby he might defend himself from the wrath 
of that just man. 

“ Nothing! nothing! ” he cried to himself, as a 
ray of hope sped into his craven heart, and he 
waved the document on high. He held the honour 
of the house of Gascoigne. Devil a thing less ! 
No eye but his had seen the confession of Edward 
Gascoigne, Rex’s father. If the Admiral so 
wished, no eye but his should ever see it. Was 
Rex’s peace of mind and his unclouded life worth 
£3,000? That was the question. And that ques- 
tion should be asked and answered that very even- 


320 


THE SWEETEST SOLACE 


ing. In the meantime, it were well to place the 
document in safety. 

About half-past seven that evening, when he 
and his staff had left the office, Albert Harris let 
himself in with the latch-key, which he always car- 
ried as the clerk responsible in his chief’s absence. 
He went straight to Mr. Swannick’s room, drew 
out of his pocket the duplicate key he had so 
cleverly abstracted, and opened the safe. He 
placed his hands on the shelf where he had seen 
the notes. There was a bulky package there, 
which had been deposited since he had got that 
fleeting glimpse of the attenuated bundle. He re- 
moved it, and drew forth the notes and counted 
them. Then he softly whistled. £300, only, out 
of £3,000! Where were the others? For a mo- 
ment his lithe fingers toyed lovingly with the crisp 
flimsies. But he shook his head. It was too 
risky. And the game was running in his favour. 
Anyway, he had discovered that which he had 
hoped to discover, and he would utilise his knowl- 
edge to the best advantage. He replaced the notes 
and carefully covered them with the packet he had 
removed. Then his eye fell on the endorsement 
on the outer envelope. 

“ Edward Gascoigne,” he thought. “ Some 
document connected with young Gascoigne’s affairs. 
Curious it is not in the strong box. It must have 
come into the governor’s hands within the last day 
or two.” Harris was a most inquisitive man, and 
his amour propre was stung that anything should 
have been withheld from him who had hitherto 


OPPORTUNITIES 


321 


had the practical management of the Gascoigne 
business. He opened the manuscript ; his curiosity 
was stimulated by the headline, and he ran his eye 
down the first page. It fell on the words “ the 
guilt of me, Edward Gascoigne.” In twenty min- 
utes he knew as much of Edward Gascoigne’s con- 
fession as did Thomas Swannick. 

Then he turned back to the first page and re-read 
it — “and once my dearest friend.” “Dearest 
friend,” he murmured, “ surely this must be the 
fellow whom Swannick alluded to as the one man 
in Whitborough who had touched Miss Blacki- 
ston’s heart, and whose name that grim old Gas- 
coigne prevented his disclosing. Henry Carden! 
Well, it might be, or it might not be. It was a 
chance.” 

He sat for several minutes thinking. The gist 
of his reflections was briefly that if he could get 
that £100 from any other source than from his 
employer, he would hint to the Admiral that Mr. 
Sheen had paid off that mortgage debt in bank- 
notes more than a month ago, and then, if Swan- 
nick had really taken those notes, it would not be 
a question of a partnership, but the capture of the 
whole business. Yes! He must get that £100 
from an independent quarter. 

“ It’s just a chance,” he muttered, as he cram- 
med the confession in his pocket. 

21 


CHAPTER XXXIII 


THE HONOUR OF A HOUSE 

As Admiral Gascoigne sat alone that evening, for 
Rex had returned to Helstone Towers, he heard 
the street bell ring and his servant announced that 
Mr. Swannick wished to see him very particularly. 

“ Come in, Swannick. What can I do for you? 
Nothing wrong, I hope?” 

The Admiral’s voice was kind, but when the 
fraudulent solicitor saw the keen, hard face, the 
bright gleaming eyes, the rat-trap mouth, his heart 
sank. Nevertheless, he had to go through with 
his task, and the sooner the ordeal was over the 
better. So he made answer: 

“ Yes, there is something wrong; that is why I 
have come.” His voice sounded husky and con- 
strained. 

The Admiral looked at him keenly. “ Well, 
what is it? ” 

“ You may remember some weeks ago we had a 
little joke about the fate that would lie in store 
for me if that £3,000 belonging to Miss Blackiston 
was not — well, was not forthcoming?” 

“ Ah, yes, we did have a little joke. Why? ” 

“ Because, Admiral Gascoigne, the money is not 
forthcoming.” His voice shook; he could scarce 
322 


“ THE HONOUR OF A HOUSE ” 323 

support himself in his chair as he watched Admiral 
Gascoigne’s face. 

“Not forthcoming!” repeated the Admiral 

slowly. “You don’t mean to say you’ve ” 

He paused and faced his co^trustee. 

“ I have used it,” replied the luckless man. 

“Used it! What do you mean? Speak 
plainly.” 

“ I mixed it up with my own money,” cried 
Swannick piteously. 

“You mean, I suppose, that you have misappro- 
priated the money? ” 

“ That’s one way of putting it,” moaned Swan- 
nick. “ I had lost money at that infernal racing, 
but I thought to get it back ! ” 

The Admiral made no reply, but continued to 
look at Swannick with cold, scrutinising eyes. 

“ You are shocked and surprised,” cried the poor 
wretch, who found the silence intolerable. 

“ Shocked — inexpressibly. Surprised — not 
wholly. And it is all gone? ” 

“ All,” replied Swannick, who, feeling that the 
Admiral’s actions would not be affected by the 
restitution of that paltry £300, considered that the 
latter sum would be a good deal more useful to 
himself in the impending crisis than to anyone else. 
“ All,” he repeated ruefully. 

“ Then, I am afraid that what I said in jest 
will be fulfilled in earnest. And unless the package 
in Charles Marston’s drawer makes Rex’s future in- 
dependent of the £3,000 I shall have to make up, 
to prison you must go,” 


324 THE SWEETEST SOLACE 

“ Then in that case you had better send out for 
a constable at once,” replied Swannick. “ For 
that document has nothing whatsoever to do with 
the Bhopal Smelting Works.” 

“How, in God’s name, dO' you know?” asked 
the Admiral sharply. 

“ Feeling my future depended upon its contents, 
I went to-day to Canon Marston’s house. He was 
not returned from London. I was shown into his 
library. I was alone, presumably writing a letter. 
There was a writing-table, in the drawer of which 
lay that bundle of papers which I had reason to 
believe stood betv/cen me and the dock. Half-an- 
inch of wood between me and the knowledge of my 
fate. In a frenzy of disappointed rage I snatched 
at the handle ; the lock was weak, and so it opened, 
and ” 

“ You took it,” interrupted the Admiral 
grimly. “ And now you find that it does not con- 
cern my nephew?” 

“ On the contrary,” replied Swannick, clutching 
at opportunity. “ It does concern your nephew 
and you and the honour of your house.” 

“ The honour of my house — oh, indeed ! 
Well, if I am to know the contents, no doubt 
Charles Marston will impart them to me at the 
proper time.” 

“ The proper time is now,” said Swannick, 
speaking with great rapidity. “ Years ago a man 
named Henry Carden, a brother officer of General 
Gascoigne’s, was cashiered for a dishonourable ac- 
tion. This document is ” 


‘‘ THE HONOUR OF A HOUSE ” 325 

“ Stop, sir. Henry Carden is dead. My 
brother was his most intimate friend. You have 
no right to divulge the contents of the document 
you have filched.” 

“ is,” continued Swannick desperately, “ an 

absolute proof of Henry Carden’s innocence.” 

“Innocence!” cried the Admiral, despite him- 
self. 

“Yes; for therein your brother. General Gas- 
coigne, makes full confession of his own guilt. It 
was he who stole the emerald from the place where 
Private Blything had hidden it.” 

The name fell with a horrible ring upon the 
Admiral’s ear. 

He approached Swannick and said sternly: “ Be 
careful, my man. If you are deceiving me it will 
go hard with you. You have gained access to 
a report of Carden’s court-martial. This is a 
trick, the trick of the detected knave.” 

“ It is not a trick. I swear it. Listen.” 
Swannick had naturally a good memory. He had 
good reason to remember the contents of that 
document, and, taking advantage of the Admiral’s 
agitation, he rapidly recounted the story he had 
read that afternoon. 

Admiral Gascoigne listened. He could not help 
himself. His heart fell as the dreary recital con- 
tinued. There were certain facts, which were un- 
known to the court-martial, that no one could 
have known but his poor brother. He waited 
silently to the end, and then cried softly, as to 


326 THE SWEETEST SOLACE 

himself, “ Poor Ned! poor Ned! and — ah, poor 
Rex!” 

“ Rex need not know,” said Swannick softly. 

“ What do you mean? ” enquired the Admiral. 

“ I mean this,” answered Swannick eagerly. 
“ No eye but mine has seen that confession. I 
have innumerable papers in your brother’s strong 
box, anyone of which I can substitute in the en- 
velope. I have the very seal with which it was 
sealed. To-morrow morning it can be replaced in 
Canon Marston’s drawer. My mouth will be 
closed for ever, if ” 

“ If,” interrupted the Admiral gently, “ that 
little matter of Miss Blackiston’s trust-money is 
overlooked, eh ? ” 

Swannick’s heart leaped within him. After all, 
the Admiral was human; he was a man of the 
world; he had, in short, accepted the bargain as 
he had hoped, if not actually anticipated. 

“ Exactly,” replied Swannick, “ and the honour 
of the house of Gascoigne is saved.” 

“ The honour of the house of Gascoigne is 
saved,” repeated the Admiral, as he once more 
faced the solicitor. “ Indeed! ” 

The last word sounded unpleasantly in Swan- 
nick’s ears, and he looked up at the old sailor, and 
he felt all the things that make life endurable 
slipping swiftly from him. For he saw that in 
John Gascoigne’s face which not more than three 
or four men had ever seen and then had not for- 
gotten it their lives long. Admiral Gascoigne, like 
most men born to command, had great self-control 


“THE HONOUR OF A HOUSE” 327 


and that self-contrpl was never greater than when 
his passion burned most fiercely. But the awful 
light in his eyes, the terrible expression of the 
whole face, the knitted brows, the clenched hands, 
snatched away from the trembling solicitor any 
hope he may have cherished. All these seemed to 
be scorched to nothingness in the flame of the 
strong man’s scorn. 

“ Indeed,” repeated the Admiral again in a quiet 
voice. “ Possibly, sir, you and I place different 
interpretations upon the term honour. If Rex’s 
father sinned, then Rex the son and I the brother 
must accept the consequences of that sin, even if 
we have to pursue the path of our own honour 
with bowed heads. I shall take possession of that 
document at once, and I shall return it with my 
own hand to Charles Marston. Will you please 
lead the way? ” 

Swannick took up his hat and walked downstairs, 
and thence into the Square. The wind blew keenly 
up from the estuary, and there was a pleasant 
smell of spindrift in the air, and it cooled the brow 
of the desperate man. He walked in front, the 
Admiral following a couple of yards behind. 
Swannick realised their new relations. 

He opened the hall door, and they entered the 
darkened room. On a small table stood a reading 
lamp, by which Swannick was wont to work in 
preference to gas. This he lighted and removed 
to the writing-table. He then unlocked the safe, 
placed his hand upon the accustomed shelf, started 


328 THE SWEETEST SOLACE 

back and seized the lamp, and then gave a shrill 
scream of despair. 

“By God, it is gone!” He felt again. The 
notes were there, but the package — again he 
cried, “ It is gone 1 ” 

“ Are you playing me false? ” said the Admiral, 
twisting the man towards him. 

“ I swear, before Heaven, I placed it on that 
shelf three hours ago — and — ” he blindly felt 
among the papers, not daring to open the safe en- 
tirely, lest the Admiral might see a note peeping 
out of that attenuated package — “and the 
duplicate key of the safe is gone. Admiral Gas- 
coigne, there is a thief in the office.” 

The Admiral’s lips twitched, but he forbore to 
make the obvious rejoinder. 

He sat down in his chair, and after a moment’s 
pause he said, “ Please close that safe and listen 
to what I have got to say.” 

“You will not have me arrested!” shrieked 
Swannick, falling on his knees and whimpering. 
“ Think that I was your friend — a true friend 
until a month ago. Have pity on me ! ” 

“ Get up, man,” said the Admiral roughly. 
Many men had he seen in the awful hour of hu- 
miliation. But detected scoundrels as they were, 
they had taken their punishment like men, with set 
face and head erect. “ Get up, I tell you.” 

Swannick rose and fell back into his chair. The 
Admiral lit a cigar and smoked silently. The of- 
fice clock ticked quietly, and Swannick fumbled at 
his lips in silent anguish, 


“THE HONOUR OF A HOUSE” 329 

“ Yes,” said the Admiral at last. “ You have 
been my friend. You have sat at my table and 
I liked you. I do not carry my heart on my sleeve, 
but I thought you an honest man, and I liked you. 
I am an old man. Who knows how soon I my- 
self must answer for my sins? What says the 
good book, ‘ Blessed are the merciful.’ Thomas 
Swannick, I shall spare you.” 

The Admiral thought he heard a curious little 
gasp coming from Swannick’s throat, but he paid 
no heed and continued: 

“ I shall raise £3,000 to-morrow on my few se- 
curities and pay the money to our joint account. 
Miss Blackiston will never know the facts of the 
case. Oh, please don’t make protestations of 
gratitude. You will then write to Miss Blackiston 
that you intend resigning the trust, as you are leav- 
ing Whitborough.” 

“ Leaving Whitborough? ” ejaculated Swannick. 

“ Most certainly! You do not suppose I could 
allow you to remain here and conduct the business 
of my intimate friends?” 

“ But that paper? ” murmured Swannick, point- 
ing to the safe. 

“ If it be placed in the hands of the military 
authorities, which, under the circumstances, I can 
scarcely conjecture, my nephew and I must stand 
the results of such publicity. But if, as I imagine, 
the thief intends to use it for the purposes of extor- 
tion, my nephew and I will take steps to protect 
ourselves. In any case, you will leave Whitbor- 
ough within a fortnight. It will be a convenience 


330 THE SWEETEST SOLACE 

to me if you hold yourself at my disposal for the 
next few days, as there are certain points connected 
with General Gascoigne’s estate which you alone 
can explain to my nephew. You can communicate 
at once with the clients, whose papers you hold, 
and give any reasons you like to your staff.” 

“ I shall have all my creditors upon my back at 
once,” moaned Swannick. 

“ What have I to do with that? ” retorted the 
Admiral, with anger. “ I have spared you the 
shames and misery of a felon’s cell. Be content. 
And now hand me the box containing my brother’s 
papers.” 

Admiral Gascoigne grasped the handle of the 
heavy box in his strong hand, and without looking 
at the man who had wronged him and whom he 
had spared, walked out into the night. 


CHAPTER XXXIV 

MR. HODSON’s mandate 

If Canon Marston was delayed in the fulfillment 
of his mission it was through no fault of his own. 
He had made an appointment with Mr. Hodson 
for the Monday preceding Rex’s birthday. A 
new warrant connected with pensions had flooded 
Pryse’s bank with work and it was not until four- 
and-twenty hours later that Canon Marston was 
ushered into the chief clerk’s private-room. 

Mr. Hodson received his visitor with great 
cordiality. He was an old gentleman who had 
grown grey in the service of the firm. 

“ At last we meet, after nigh five years of wait- 
ing. Ah! my poor old friend General Gascoigne 
did not long survive his last visit to me. The 
mark of death was upon him even then. Dear, 
dear. He was a merry, harum-scarum fellow 
when I first remember him, without a care in the 
world.” 

“ He had much to trouble him. His wife, a 
very beautiful girl, died young; his child had to 
be sent home from India ; and, perhaps, what sad- 
dened him even worse, a very great friend came to 
a sad and terrible end.” 

“ Did he ever talk to you about that friend? ” 
asked the clerk. 


331 


332 THE SWEETEST SOLACE 

“ Never,” replied the Canon. “ The subject 
would have been most painful to us both. Your 
time is, I am sure, valuable. Shall we get to 
business? ” 

“ Perhaps that friend is the business,” replied 
Mr. Hodson significantly. 

“ What do you mean, sir? ” cried Charles Mars- 
ton. 

“ I mean, that the cause of General Gascoigne’s 
seizure was the sudden belief that Henry Carden 
lived.” 

“Henry Carden alive!” exclaimed the Canon. 
“ Impossible I He perished in the flooding of the 
Tonora Valley.” 

“He is supposed to have perished, I know; 
indeed, it is impossible to doubt that he did perish. 
But in these great disasters it is always difficult 
to identify the swollen bodies of the drowned, 
and any man who escaped and who wished to sink 
his identity, would have the one opportunity of 
his life. Upon that presumption General Gas- 
coigne founded his belief. Now listen to this. 
Shortly after his recovery from his first seizure, 
he came here, sorely stricken as I could see, and 
asked me if I bore in mind the name of a brother 
officer of his, named Henry Carden. I replied I 
had remembered young Carden and his peculiar 
charm of manner and his sad story, but that he had 
perished opportunely.” 

“ ‘ He was not so much to blame as the world 
believed,’ replied the General with great earnest- 
ness, ‘ and I have good reason for believing that he 


MR. HOBSON’S MANDATE 


333 


still lives. I heard from my son the day I was 
struck down, and, from certain evidence contained 
in his letter, I am convinced that the man with 
whom he was staying — a Mr. Henry Francis, of 
Baroopna — is none other than my dear friend, 
Henry Carden.’ Those were his very words.” 

Charles Marston bethought him at once of 
Margaret’s straight, lithe figure and Jessamine’s 
soft dark eyes, but he mastered his emotion and 
merely nodded his head. 

“ ‘ It is for you,’ General Gascoigne went on, 
‘ to discover that fact for me. I am too ill to 
attempt the task myself. In a few months I may 
be gone and the matter must not depend upon 
a sick man’s life. Besides, I cannot write to him 
myself,’ he continued. ‘ I am sure, for reasons 
into which I need not go, he would not vouchsafe 
a reply. I am, perhaps, the last person to whom 
he would answer. Also, I might die before the 
answer arrived, and it might be read by those 
whom I should not wish. I have, therefore, come 
here to ask you to do this. You must write to 
him in your capacity of a man of business — he 
will probably remember your name — and ask him 
point-blank if he is Hen^ Carden; state that cer- 
tain papers of value have been placed in your hands 
to send to Henry Carden, and that it will relieve 
you of great anxiety and expense if he owns to the 
identity, and that his secret, if he desires, will be 
kept inviolate. If,’ continued the General, ‘ you 
receive an answer in the affirmative and I am no 
longer on this earth, you are to send the address 


334 the sweetest SOLACE 

of this man, Henry Francis, to my friend, Canon 
Marston, of Whitborough, who will understand 
why the address is sent him.’ ” 

“ I should have understood, perfectly,” ex- 
claimed the Canon. “ I had to send the document 
to him.” 

“Document!” repeated the clerk, “General 
Gascoigne said nothing to me about a document.” 

“Oh dear, what have I done?” cried Charles 
Marston, horrified at his indiscretion. 

“ Do not be distressed. No doubt General Gas- 
coigne had excellent reasons for withholding the 
existence of the document from me. Do you know 
when the document was written, and was it after 
he had seen me ? ” 

“ It was written and delivered to me on the 
1 6 th of June,” answered the Canon, not without 
misgivings. 

“ The very day after he called. Thank you, 
that is enough, for it shows that the paper apper- 
tains in some way to the tin box of which you 
hold the key. For you know, he entrusted to me, 
in my private capacity, a tin box, which I was to 
forward to this Henry Francis, at Baroopna, and 
I presume you were entrusted with the despatch 
of the key. Such, then, was the procedure laid 
down for me if Henry Francis admitted that he 
was Captain Henry Carden.” 

“ And if he did not? ” enquired the Canon. 

“ General Gascoigne gave me there and then 
a large sum of money — no less a sum than £i,ooo 
in bank notes — and authorised me to trace, by 


MR. HOBSON’S MANDATE 335 

means of the usual agencies, the Henry Carden 
who stayed at the San Carlos Hotel, at the head 
of Tonora Valley, the day before the great flood, 
to any of the American ports, and thence to some 
Australian port, and thence again to Baroopna, 
New South Wales. 

“ In vain did I suggest the impracticability of 
this course, and the slender chances of success after 
so long a lapse of time. But he would not admit 
it. Indeed, he thought it merely a question of 
time, money, and man’s intelligence. For the 
area of investigation was really very small. There 
are two ports from which a man would be likely to 
sail from, namely, San Francisco, and New York, 
and there was only a limited period 'to consider. 
At least, so General Gascoigne argued. Henry 
Carden’s discovery seemed to stand between him 
and happiness. His idea was fixed and nothing 
I could say could deter him. If I did not under- 
take the task, he must entrust it to an ordinary en- 
quiry agent. This I implored him not to do, and 
as his purpose seemed inflexible, most reluctantly 
I consented, and immediately asked what I should 
do with the box if the search proved futile. 

“ He told me that, despite his convictions, he 
had considered that point. He intended to post- 
pone his son’s majority until his twenty-fifth year. 
I was not to communicate with you until the ex- 
piration of that term, which would allow ample 
time for search; and then, if our investigations 
failed, I was to give you an interview, impart to 
you the nature of my commission, receive the key 


336 THE SWEETEST SOLACE 

from you, open the box in your presence, and hand 
the contents over to you, to be dealt with in the 
ordinary way. Now I hope you will not think 
me indiscreet, but I am curious to know whether 
you, on your side, received any instructions regard- 
ing that document in case you did not receive the 
address from me? ” 

Charles Marston hesitated. He had committed 
one indiscretion already, but upon the principles 
he had always observed in life — that you should 
never give a half confidence — he thought it better 
and more politic to answer the question unre- 
servedly. 

“ So soon as I had returned home from this 
interview which we are now having I was to break 
the seal and read the document. If I thought 
it advisable that young Mr. Gascoigne should 
know the contents, I should impart it; if I thought 
it were better he should be kept in ignorance, I 
was to bum it with my own hand and keep its 
purport a profound secret. Pray continue your 
story.” 

“ General Gascoigne, having extracted my prom- 
ise, went away. He held his head higher, his 
step was lighter; his mind, in short, was relieved. 
But he was none the less a stricken man, and in a 
few weeks he succumbed to a second seizure. Of 
course, in the meantime, I had written to this Mr. 
Francis. The reply I received showed so ef- 
fectually that the writer could never have been 
an officer in Her Majesty’s service that I can- 
not understand how General Gascoigne, from any 


MR. HOBSON’S MANDATE 337 

description his son might have given, could have 
ever entertained the idea. Pursuant to my in- 
structions, I then placed the matter in the hands 
of a respectable firm of New York lawyers, which 
was, in fact, all I could do. They employed agents 
who, I have no doubt, were no less respectable. 
They made every investigation, and all the hotel- 
keepers and shipowners gave them every facility, 
but, of course, the search proved fruitless. No 
one, either of the name of Henry Carden or Henry 
Francis, shipped from either San Francisco or New 
York, nor arrived at any Australian port, for, of 
course, enquiries were made there, too. Hotel 
books, ships’ registers, and similar documents, 
which were still in existence, were investigated and 
compared with a specimen of Captain Carden’s 
handwriting which General Gascoigne had pre- 
served, but in vain. Landlords, captains of ships, 
pursers, and stewards, were interviewed, but none 
could give any satisfactory evidence by which 
Henry Carden could be identified as one of their 
passengers. The £1,000 soon disappeared, and 
my commission was over and I had fulfilled my 
promise. Be sure, my friend. Captain Carden per- 
ished in that awful disaster.” 

. But Charles Marston, mindful of Margaret’s 
proud step and Jessamine’s eyes, was not so easily 
convinced. There was, moreover, a point in Mr. 
Hodson’s argument, which, from his acquaintance 
with facts, seemed to be very unconvincing. 

“ You say the letter you received from this man, 
Henry Francis, was of a nature which precluded 


338 THE SWEETEST SOLACE 

the writer having ever had the education of a 
gentleman. Now it happens, by a curious com- 
bination of circumstances, brought about by Rex 
Gascoigne’s visit to their father’s house, that this 
man’s daughters are now at Whitborough. One 
is mistress in a school with which I am connected. 
I can only say that from her manner and education, 
she has been brought up in a home of the rarest 
refinement. Is it not possible, if Henry Carden 
desired to remain undiscovered, that he might 
have got someone else to write the letter?” 

“ Of course, I thought of that,” said Mr. Hod- 
son, with some little asperity. “ But, remember, 
I knew Captain Carden slightly. Whatever his 
moral shortcomings may have been it is inconceiv- 
able that he would live on such terms with his 
herds and stockmen as to ask one of them to write 
a letter the very spelling of which would excite 
suspicion, while he could, with equal ease, have 
got any neighbor of reasonable education to un- 
dertake the task. Why the fellow, in beginning 
his letter, actually spelt the words ‘ Presents his 
compliments ’ with a c-e in each case.” 

“ That certainly does not look like an associate 
of Harry Carden’s. Only the other day a rough 
man, who, I am told, had been originally a sailor, 

spelt those very ” Charles Marston paused 

and smote the table. “ The man — the very man 
in question ! Show me the letter.” 

The astonished chief clerk unlocked a drawer 
and produced the letter, which merely ran : “ Henry 
Francis precense his complimence to Mr. Hodson, 


MR. HODSON’S MANDATE 339 

and begs to say he clames no connexion with the 
party named.” One glance was sufficient. No 
two men living within riding distance of Baroopna 
could have penned a letter in that distorted hand- 
writing, still less would two men — associates of 
Henry Carden — have spelled those two words as 
they sounded to the untrained ear. So soon as 
Canon Marston had explained the very honourable 
part Benjamin Cox had played in these young girls’ 
lives, Mr. Hodson was fain to admit that Gen- 
eral Cascoigne’s intuitions were correct, and that 
Henry Carden lived. 

“ My suspicions should have been aroused by 
the ambiguous use of the word ‘ claim,’ but in truth 
I could not get over the whole appearance of the 
letter. And now I have nothing more to do but 
to produce the box and ask you to open it and give 
me a receipt for its contents.” 

He produced the box — a small tin box, pur- 
chasable for half-a-crown — and with trembling 
hands Canon Marston opened it. Both men emit- 
ted cries of surprise. It contained five Bank of 
England notes for £1,000 each — the money, of 
course, withdrawn by that unaccounted cheque — 
and the following note : — 

“ My dear Harry, 

“ In his last letter my boy Rex mentioned 
incidentally that you have invested largely in 
Australian insurance companies. Now, I happen 
to know they have, without their shareholders’ 
knowledge, been guaranteeing bank deposits, and, 


340 


THE SWEETEST SOLACE 


as you are on the verge of a bad drought and a 
grave crisis, it would please me to think that 
my old friend and his children can never be in 
actual want. Accept the enclosed. It is a small 
return for what I once accepted from you. I thank 
you for all your kindness to Rex. He has her 
eyes, has he not? 

“ I am stricken unto death. By the time you 
receive this I doubt not I shall be gone. Perhaps, 
after all, you have had the happier life, and I know 
you too well to think you will jeer when you read 
my words. 

“ Ever your old comrade, 

“ Ned Gascoigne.” 

“ Poor fellow I ” said Charles Marston. “ It’s 
a simple, touching little letter.” 

Mr. Hodson made no answer. His face was 
grave, his brow knitted. Canon Marston repeated 
his guileless comment. 

“ Touching, yes,” replied the chief clerk slowly. 
“Simple? Of that I am not so sure. It is a 
letter the purport of which Henry Carden would 
appreciate if ever it came into his hands, but it 
is a letter which, if it fell into the hands of others, 
would convey no more than — well, what it has 
apparently conveyed to you.” 

“ I do not understand you,” said the bewildered 
Canon. 

“ I will explain. General Gascoigne says, ‘ Ac- 
cept this; it is a small return for what I once ac- 
cepted from you.’ What had General Gascoigne 


MR. HOBSON’S MANDATE 341 

ever accepted from Henry Carden that was in 
any way comparable to this enormous sum of 
money? Canon Marston, a new light seems to 
break in upon me which might explain many things 
connected with the latter life of poor General Gas- 
coigne. Again, he says, ‘ He has her eyes.’ Who 
possessed eyes like those of young Gascoigne that 
Carden should be expected to remember them after 
this lapse of years. Am I wrong in suggesting 
that it was Mrs. Gascoigne, the boy’s mother? ” 

“ There was, I admit, some talk in Whitbor- 
ough. People said poor Henry had himself been 
attached to this beautiful girl,” said the Canon. 

“ So I should have gathered from that one sen- 
tence. And lastly, why does General Gascoigne 
say, ‘ Perhaps, after all, you have had the happier 
life ? Happier life! Why, what life under the 
canopy of heaven could be so unhappy as that of 
an officer who had been cashiered? Whatever 
trials General Gascoigne may have undergone — 
loss of fortune, loss of wife, loss of a friend — 
how could his life be compared for utter misery 
to that of Henry Carden, unless ” 

“Sir!” cried Charles Marston aghast. “You 
would not suggest that Edward Gascoigne himself 
was guilty of the crime for which Harry Carden 
suffered? ” 

“ Wholly guilty. No, that is scarcely conceiv- 
able. But that he was in some degree involved. 
Remember his words. ‘ He is not so much to 
blame as the world believes.’ I paid little heed 
to the expression then. Every kind man en- 


342 THE SWEETEST SOLACE 

deavours to minimise the faults of his friends, but 
read by the light of the letter lying there — ‘ small 
return for what I accepted from you ’ — what can 
we believe? Remember, that Edward Gascoigne 
was a happy man until this event happened, and 
from that hour was a most unhappy man. How- 
ever sympathetic a man may be, his whole life is 
not shadowed by the disgrace of even the most in- 
timate friend. Remember, that if I was success- 
ful in my quest and Henry Carden was discovered, 
I was told to give you the address of the man 
Francis, which would suggest nothing to you. 
The secret, then, was, if possible, to be kept even 
from you. But if that were rendered impossible 
by my failure, then he left it to you, a life-long 
friend, nay, for aught I know, his spiritual adviser, 
to decide if his boy should ever know the contents 
of that document, for be sure in that paper lies 
the story of these two men’s lives. I pray God 
to give you wisdom and strength to exercise your 
discretion wisely.” 

It was with these words of warning ringing 
in his ears that Charles Marston returned to Whit- 
borough. His mind was distracted by the prob- 
lems Mr. Hodson had raised so unexpectedly. If 
this document did bear reference to Henry Carden’s 
disgrace, if Edward Gascoigne had been an acces- 
sory to the crime, what should he do ? To disclose 
its contents to Rex would be to shatter the boy’s 
respect for his father’s memory. To suppress it 
might result in an irreparable wrong to Henry 
Carden’s daughters. Everything would depend 


MR. HOBSON’S MANDATE 343 

upon the contents of the papers. While he 
thought of these things he remembered Swannick’s 
proffer of safe custody. He ought, himself, to 
have bought a safe. That old bureau was not a 
fit place for such a document. He could see now 
how negligent he had been. 

He sat in the train and prayed God that he 
should at least find the paper safe. He arrived 
at Gascoigne Square about four in the afternoon. 
With scarce a word to his sister, he rushed into 
the library and placed the key in the lock of the 
drawer. It seemed to click back with an ominous 
facility. He opened the drawer, and with a shrill 
cry he fell prone across the table. The document 
was gone. He had betrayed his trust. 


CHAPTER XXXV 


DANGER AND DELIVERANCE 

The next morning, pursuant to Admiral Gas- 
coigne’s orders, Thomas Swannick marshalled his 
staff before him in the office. He explained with 
a gentle, winning smile that certain negotiations, 
which had been in train for some little time, but 
which had come to a head with quite unexpected 
suddenness, necessitated his leaving Whitborough 
at the end of the week, and so he had no option 
but to discharge them. He hoped, however, that 
certain of them might see their way to follow him 
to this new sphere of usefulness, and that he would 
communicate immediately with those for whom 
he had vacancies. 

“ He did pinch those notes and the Admiral 
has found out,” murmured Albert Harris ecstat- 
ically, as he saw that he held the reversion of the 
business in his hand if only Barkly Helstone’s 
claim could be satisfied. He also realised that any 
chance of getting the money from Swannick was 
gone. He must get it in another quarter. 

Swannick spent the morning in his office writing 
to his various clients. Harris noticed that Gen- 
eral Gascoigne’s deed box had been already re- 
moved. Clearly, that confession was not intended 
to be submitted to Rex Gascoigne. From mo- 
344 


DANGER AND DELIVERANCE 345 

tives of pity or policy it had been withheld. There 
was nothing in Swannick’s manner to his clerk 
which betrayed any suspicion. Swannick, con- 
scious of the possible discovery of his own guilty 
secret, saw to that. Harris assumed that the safe 
had not been opened since the previous day, but 
it might be opened any moment. He must act 
at once. 

At two o’clock Swannick left the office. Harris 
watched him enter Gascoigne House. He was 
aware that the Admiral conducted all business, 
magisterial and other, in a little room at the back 
of the house, which he used as an office. This 
interview with Rex Gascoigne and his uncle — on 
the eve of the former’s majority — could not, from 
the nature of things, last less than two or three 
hours. 

Much can be done in a couple of hours by a bold, 
resourceful man. 

Accordingly, he gave Swannick ten minutes’ 
law to get from the morning-room at Gascoigne 
House, whither he would probably be shown, to 
the Admiral’s den, and then he walked boldly to 
Miss Blackiston’s house and asked the servant if 
he could see her at once. 

The maid, impressed, no doubt, by the “ grand 
manner,” showed him up to the drawing-room, 
where he awaited the arrival of the lady of the 
house with anxiety.” 

The temperature had fallen that day and Miss 
Blackiston, who was a chilly mortal, had treated 
herself to a fire. It was already low and Harris 


346 THE SWEETEST SOLACE 

watched it with a curious smile. Everything de- 
pended upon the one question, was Henry Carden 
— mentioned in the confession — the particular 
brother officer of General Gascoigne’s who, accord- 
ing to bygone gossip, had touched the heart of 
Margaret Blackiston. 

Miss Blackiston’s manner when she arrived was 
not reassuring. She had her views regarding the 
lanky, supercilious clerk, and she entered the room 
with her little nose in air and her skirts rustling. 

“ Good morning, Mr. Harris. I presume you 
have been sent here by Mr. Swannick. I am sorry 
you should have had the trouble to come all the 
way upstairs; my servant should have shown you 
into the breakfast-room. Hem ! ” 

Harris bowed, and answered with unusual po- 
liteness : 

“ I have come on business, but I was not sent 
by Mr. Swannick. I suppose, madam, you have 
heard that Mr. Swannick is leaving Whitborough 
at the end of the week? ” 

Miss Blackiston emitted a cry of dismay. The 
Admiral had thought it would allay suspicion if 
the announcement of the solicitor’s sudden exodus 
came from Swannick himself. 

“ Leaving Whitborough ! Then what have you 
come here for? I know,” she added scornfully, 
‘‘ to solicit my custom.” 

“ ‘ Business ’ would be the term, madam,” Har- 
ris replied with suavity, “ but that was not my 
intention. In fact, I came from an earnest desire 
to confer a benefit on you. I will explain in a 


DANGER AND DELIVERANCE 347 

few words, and I should be glad if you would allow 
me to take a seat.” 

Miss Blackiston was sceptical of Mr. Harris’s 
favour, but she bowed and Harris took a chair, 
which he placed close to the fire. 

“ It is, as you know,” he continued, “ the eve 
of young Mr. Gascoigne’s twenty-fifth birthday. 
A good many papers connected with the late Gen- 
eral Gascoigne’s estate have been perused by me 
on behalf of Mr. Swannick. One paper, however, 
passed into my hands, by an act of inadvertence 
on Mr. Swannick’s part. I have good reason to 
believe that Mr. Swannick did not intend that 
document to be included among the papers which 
will be submitted this afternoon to Mr. Gascoigne, 
and, presumably, his uncle, too. He intended, in 
short, either to suppress its existence entirely, or 
to disclose it at his own discretion. That docu- 
ment I have in my pocket now. I brought it here 
because I believe that its mere existence would 
be a cause of satisfaction to you, its destruction, 
if such a thing should happen, a source of life-long 
regret ” 

“Indeed!” replied Miss Blackiston, watching 
the man carefully. She could not tell from his 
manner whether he came as friend or foe. “ In- 
deed I May I ask what this document may be or 
by what right you hold it, and how it concerns 
me?” 

“ My right Is based upon a sense of justice to 
the memory of a dead man. Its nature I will 
explain and I should like to ask you just one ques- 


348 THE SWEETEST SOLACE 

tion, the answer to which will tell me whether I am 
right in assuming that the document does concern 
you. May I ask you that question?” 

He spoke very quietly and with an attempt at 
courtesy that cost him a good deal to maintain. 

“ Certainly you can ask me the question,” re- 
plied Miss Blackiston, whose face at the mention 
of a dead man’s memory had betrayed some anx- 
iety. Apart from that one sad episode, her life 
had been singularly uneventful. 

“ Had you not a friend years ago named Henry 
Carden?” 

As he asked the question he looked up quickly 
into Margaret Blackiston’s face and saw at once 
that his judgment had not played him false. A 
great flood of colour swept into her sallow face; 
into the dark eyes there flashed an expression of 
awful apprehension. She controlled her emotion 
and answered steadily enough: 

“ I had a friend named Henry Carden.” 

“ He was a great friend — a very great friend. 
Am I right in assuming that he was even something 
more than a friend ? ” Harris’s voice dropped 
seductively. 

Peggy Blackiston clenched her trembling hands. 
How had this smooth-tongued man discovered her 
secret. Despite all efforts her voice shook as she 
answered : 

“Yes; you may assume that — what then?” 

“ He had to leave the army under very painful 
circumstances ” ? 

“ He was cashiered, but to this day I believe 


DANGER AND DELIVERANCE 349 

him to be innocent of the crime with which he was 
charged.” Her voice rang defiantly. 

“You are right, madam. Henry Carden was 
innocent. In my pocket I hold the proof of that 
innocence.” 

“The proof! — innocence! What do you 
mean, man ? ” she cried passionately, her self-pos- 
session for the moment deserting her. 

“ I mean this. General Gascoigne left a pa- 
per — the paper to which I referred; this Mr. 
Swannick has, for reasons best known to himself, 
excluded from the others connected with the es- 
tate. I brought it here to-day, feeling that in you 
I should find an ally in the act of rehabilitation. 
You can gather the nature of this document from 
the words which General Gascoigne placed at the 
commencement.” 

He produced the package, extracted the paper, 
and holding it firmly in his hand, he turned back 
the front page all but the head-line, which he held 
before her eyes. 

With wondering eyes she read the words : “ The 
true story of Henry Carden, late Captain in Her 
Majesty’s forces. His innocence and unmerited 
disgrace.” She recognized the handwriting as 
that of Edward Gascoigne. The authenticity of 
the document could not be disputed. , 

She gave a cry of joy and stretched out her 
hands. 

“And you brought this to me, Mr. Harris; I 
am afraid I have misjudged you.” 

“ You have,” said Harris complacently, “ But 


350 THE SWEETEST SOLACE 

I regret I cannot give you the document now. I 
am in rather a difficult position. Mr. Swannick 
may by this time have returned to his office; he 
will, of course, have discovered that the paper 
has been abstracted. He will most assuredly be- 
lieve that it is I who took it and things may go 
hard with me if I am dependent upon him. Now, 
I intend to retain this document, which, I need 
hardly say, gives the story of the theft of the 
Afghan emerald and the name of the real culprit, 
until Mr. Swannick has left Whitborough. He 
will search the office high and low, but the paper 
will not be forthcoming. It will have been mis- 
laid. Nor will it be found if you and I, the only 
persons who know of its existence besides Mr. 
Swannick, hold our tongues. So soon as he leaves 
Whitborough, I shall open an office here myself 
— if possible, our present office. I hope to retain 
the confidence of many of Mr. Swannick’s clients, 
whose affairs I have practically managed for some 
time. In due course the document will be pro- 
duced as one of the many papers which- are sure to 
be overlooked in the general scramble. I can then 
be trusted to use it in the way best calculated to 
clear the memory of this unfortunate gentleman, 
both in the eyes of the world and of the military 
authorities. This, of course, I can do, if, as I said, 
I am in a position to remain at Whitborough.” 

“ Why should you not remain at Whitbor- 
ough ? ” she asked gently. Mr. Harris may not 
have acted quite fairly by Mr. Swannick, but he 
was assuredly endeavoring to right a great wrong. 


DANGER AND DELIVERANCE 351 

“ Because, madam, my continued residence here 
is dependent upon my getting the sum of £100 
within four-and- twenty hours. I lost that sum, and 
more, to a gentleman who threatens to post my 
name at the East Whitshire Club. Should he do 
so I should be ruined, both socially and profes- 
sionally, and could no longer remain here.” 

“ I see,” said Miss Blackiston. “ You have 
come here to ask me ” , 

“To advance that £100. Exactly, madam.” 

He looked down at her complacently and their 
eyes met ; and at once — in a flash — he realised he 
had made an irretrievable mistake. For in those 
large dark eyes he saw the light of battle; her 
mobile lips were for once tightly closed, on each of 
the sallow cheeks there appeared a little red spot 
— danger signals truly. She was not a Blackiston 
of Crook Hill for nothing, and in that frail body 
there burned the fighting spirit of those rollicking, 
bottle-nosed ancestors of hers, who had fought 
cocks and ridden races, wooed fair maids and 
pinked brave men. 

There was a moment’s silence and then Mar- 
garet Blackiston spoke. 

“ You blackmailing scoundrel! I shall not give 
you one penny. I shall report you to your em- 
ployer. He will have you put in prison for dis- 
honesty.” 

Harris stepped back a yard or two. He saw 
his predicament. He had mistaken his woman. 
His subtle and ingenious method of putting the 
matter before her had utterly failed. She meant 


352 THE SWEETEST SOLACE 


what she said. He saw by one false move he had 
practically annihilated the hope he had so fondly 
cherished. Yes, that was gone; whatever hap- 
pened, she would denounce him, he knew it in- 
stinctively; but, at any rate, he could at least make 
an attempt to get sufficient money to keep him 
from starvation until some other employment 
turned up. He turned savagely to her. 

“ Swannick will send me to prison, will he ? 
You go to him and just mention the word ‘ prison ’ 
and see how he likes it.” 

Miss Blackiston’s heart sank. Was her beloved 
adviser’s departure from Whitborough due to any 
other cause than that of personal choice. An un- 
controllable look of anxiety came into her eyes. 
Harris pressed his advantage. 

“ Madam, you will go to the bank at once — 
and bring me that money in gold — not notes — 
it will close in twenty minutes — or ” 

“Or what?” she replied, with a spark of the 
old spirit. 

He made no reply, but poked the fire into a 
little flame, and then he held the sheaf of papers 
close to the edge of the flame. She made an 
attempt to grab them, but he thrust her hand away 
with a mocking laugh. For the first time in all 
her life she felt the physical weakness of woman- 
hood. Her eyes were wet with tears of futile 
rage. 

“ Miss Blackiston, whether you denounce me or 
not, I must have that £ioo. If you don’t give it 
me I swear before Heaven that I will burn this 


DANGER AND DELIVERANCE 353 

document, now, before your eyes.” Once again he 
placed the papers to the flame. She heard the 
outer leaves begin to crinkle. A slight smell of 
singeing assailed her nostrils. The man was des- 
perate, she could see. She had loved Henry Car- 
den dearly, but she was so poor. She saw a little 
glare of light. The outer sheet had actually 
touched the flame. The existence of that paper 
meant the vindication of the man she had loved 
in the past, the happiness of his daughters whom 
she loved now. 

“ I will get the £100 — if you undertake not to 
destroy that paper,” she said in a strangled little 
voice. 

Harris extinguished the tiny flame with his hand, 
inserted the paper in the envelope, and placed the 
latter in the inner pocket of his coat. Then he 
produced a cigar. 

“ I do not allow smoking in my drawing-room,” 
said Peggy Blackiston indignantly. 

Harris’s reply was to light the cigar. She 
stamped her foot and turned to leave the room. 

She hurried to the bank. That interview with 
the manager was a sad one, for her balance was 
low and she had to plead for a substantial over- 
draft. She took the money in gold. She refused 
the offer of the porter’s assistance. She had no 
idea specie was so heavy — but oh I the bag was 
lighter than her own heart. For she knew the 
privation she must endure before that overdraft 
was met. Was ever woman so beset! And as if 
in mockery, when she got to Tremlett Lane, she 
23 


354 the sweetest SOLACE 

heard someone following her with light step, whis- 
tling a jocund ditty. 

It was little Rob Rowly, who, seizing the oppor- 
tunity of Mr. Swannick’s departure, had at last 
persuaded his father to let him transfer his energies 
from the law to liquor. He walked on air. He 
held all creation in the hollow of his hand. He 
recognised the lady in front and hurried up to 
impart the glad intelligence to Miss Blackiston, 
for whom he had conceived the most extravagant 
regard. 

“ Hulloh, Miss Blackiston! Jolly day, ain’t it? 
Jolliest day in my life. Just left the office for 
good.” 

“ Oh, have you? ” she replied; then she added, 
with a twinkle of that fun which nothing could 
wholly quench, “ How are you getting on with 
Miss Gwendolen? You can’t say I haven’t done 
my best for you.” 

“ You have,” he replied. “ I think she’s drawn 
to me, but you see, being a woman, she still clings 
to Harris’s grand air and beauty. Beauty, eh? 
Hang him I I’d like to spoil his beauty. Yah 1 ” 
He smote the circumambient air. 

Miss Blackiston stopped and looked at him from 
top to toe. Then she shook her head sadly. 

Ah,” she murmured. “ Ah, I wish you were 
a big man. I am afraid you couldn’t beat Mr. 
Harris.” 

“ What, that dissipated wastrel 1 ” the little fel- 
low shouted. “ I’d give £50 to try. Miss 


DANGER AND DELIVERANCE 355 

Blackiston, in half an hour his own mother 
wouldn’t know him.” 

Miss Blackiston looked at him again. She 
noticed the roll of biceps under his soft tweed 
coat, the keen, clear eyes, the firnl mouth, the pug- 
nacious cock in the little nose. Surely it was not 
by mere chance that she had met this pocket hero 
in the hour of her extremity. 

“ Robert Rowly, you shall have your chance. 
At this very moment, that reptile, Harris, is sitting 
in my drawing-room, smoking. I repeat it — 
smoking. In the inner pocket of his coat is a 
document in an envelope. That paper is worth 
more to me than anything in the world. He 
threatens to put it in the fire unless I give him 
something I can ill afford. Do you think you 
could prevent his burning that paper? ” 

“ I could try,” said Bob. 

“ Well, do you go down quietly to your old 
offices, turn up by the mews, and get into my house 
by the garden. I’ll meet you there and we’ll go 
upstairs together.” 

She met her ally in the hall. She walked up 
the stairs with heavy foot, while he crept cat-like 
behind her. She entered the room, and Bob 
Rowly crouched behind the half-opened door. 

“ Here is your money,” she said, placing the bag 
upon a table between the two windows. ‘‘ You 
had better count it.” 

Harris rose, placed his cigar on the mantelpiece 
and approached the table, and in so doing, placed 
his back to the door. An artistic little cough gave 


356 THE SWEETEST SOLACE 

her champion the signal. He glided in between 
Harris and the fireplace. The clerk’s quick ear 
detected some noise. With nerves alert he turned 
quickly. 

“ Go and shut that door,” cried Bob Rowly, 
and with the spring of a panther he had Harris by 
the throat. 

Peggy Blackiston gave one awful fleeting glance 
behind her and rushed to the landing, where she 
listened in an agony of mingled fear and hope. 

There was a horrid sound of men struggling 
silently. A blow. A cry of rage and anguish — 
another blow — more blows — another struggle, a 
terrific crash which shook the whole house. A 
yell; more crashing; the shattering of glass and 
china; the twang, as it were, of a thousand wires 
all vibrating at once. “ The harp ! ” murmured 
the affrighted listener. The clattering of fire-irons, 
which haply ceased betimes; the sound of tearing 
cloth, which brought ecstasies to her fainting heart. 
Oaths — more oaths. One terrific blow, the dull 
thud whereof fell upon her ear with horrid menace. 
Silence. Then the door opened and Bob Rowly 
appeared. 

“ It’s all right,” he said. “ I’ve got it.” 

She rushed up to thank him, then she gave a 
great cry. His face was all bleeding where it had 
been cut by some splinters of glass, his nose was 
like unto that of Bardolph, and a lump was rising 
on his forehead, where the corner of a china cabinet 
had caught him as it fell. 


DANGER AND DELIVERANCE 357 

“ Oh, my poor, dear, brave, little fellow I ” she 
whimpered. “ I shall never forgive myself.” 

“ Pooh! ” replied Bob cheerfully. “You wait 
until you see the other fellow.” 

Miss Blackiston entered the room — and there, 
lying across a sofa, amidst a chaos of broken china, 
splintered glass, and twisted strands of wire, lay 
the extortioner. The victory had been almost as 
hollow as Bob had predicted, for, whereas Harris 
had only succeeded in getting one good blow home 
on Robert’s cheerful countenance, the latter had 
used his fists with terrific effect. The struggle 
had been prolonged through Harris’s frantic efforts 
to prevent his assistant obtaining the papers. The 
clerk’s coat was torn to rags, and there he lay, 
bleeding, blown, and baffled. 

Bob Rowly handed Miss Blackiston the package, 
which, though sorely crumpled, had, thanks to his 
skilful strategy, not been actually torn. She took 
it, and, pointing to the door, said cheerfully: 

“ You can go now, Mr. Harris. Whatever may 
be your relations with Mr. Swannick, I shall take 
care that Admiral Gascoigne is informed of your 
conduct, and the best thing you can do is to leave 
Whitborough at once.” 

The clerk rose with some difficulty and slunk out 
of the room. 

As the hall door opened Miss Blackiston rushed 
to the open window with a merry twinkle in her 
eyes. 

“ One moment, Mr. Harris.” 

He turned in the Square, and looked up with a 


358 THE SWEETEST SOLACE 

ghastly glare. Miss Blackiston re-appeared. She 
held the stump of a cigar at the end of a pair of 
tongs. 

“ Your cigar, dear sir. It seems a pity to waste 
it.” 

“ Yes, my boy,” cried Bob Rowly. “ You can 
finish it at your infernal pot-house, the exclusive 
East Whitshire.” 

“ Now, Mr. Rowly,” said Peggy Blackiston, as 
she hugged the package with her withered hands 
to her unwithered heart, “ what you have done 
for me to-day I know I can never really repay. 
But is there anything that I can do for you ? ” 

“ There is,” replied Bob, with alacrity. “ You 
can ask Lord Streybridge to propose me for the 
East Whitshire Club.’ 


CHAPTER XXXVI 
Margaret’s decision 

“ Of course I will, my brave champion,” replied 
Peggy Blackiston; “but,” she added demurely, 
“did not I hear you a minute ago call the club a 
beastly pot-house ? ” 

Bob Rowly’s face turned very red. His con- 
tempt had been of that most common type which 
is bred by unfamiliarity. 

“I did; but, you see, Harris has been coming 
the East Whitshire over me for three years. I 
should like to belong to.it, if it’s only to acquire 
what Gwendolen calls the indefinable cachet. You 
will ask Lord Streybridge? ” 

“ I will — gladly. He is coming to see Canon 
Marston this afternoon, and I will send across to 
him. Now, do you run upstairs and wash your 
face, while I go to your mother and tell her about 
your nose before she sees it. Then you follow, 
and by the time you’ve tidied up Lord Streybridge 
will be here.” 

As no time was to be wasted, Peggy locked up 
her precious document and hurried across to Mrs. 
Rowly, who listened to her description of the bat- 
tle with tears of pride and anguish. 

So soon as Peggy returned, she took the paper 
out, looked at it, turned it over, but did not read it. 
359 


36 o the sweetest SOLACE 

In truth, her whole nervous system was strained to 
the utmost. The dispensation for which she had 
prayed in the long past had come at last, and yet 
she was fain to defer the reading of the paper until 
she had someone to support her in the ordeal. 
Julian Streybridge would be here soon. She had 
known him from a child. He was the most dis- 
creet of men and the most sympathetic. She would 
rely upon that sympathy and discretion. So she 
put the document back and set to work to restore 
some appearance of order in her drawing-room. 
Some of the china was smashed to atoms; other 
pieces could be repaired, in a fashion. The cabinet 
could be reglazed. The frame of the harp was 
intact. In short, the cost was slight, and having 
gathered up her hundred sovereigns she clinked 
them with gay abandon. 

At five o’clock Rob Rowly reappeared; most 
traces of the fight having been removed, except, 
of course, the nose, the cock whereof seemed to 
diminish as it swelled laterally. 

In a few minutes he was followed by Lord Strey- 
bridge. 

‘‘ I am late,” the latter said. “ I found Canon 
Marston in great distress, the cause of which he 
was reluctant to explain. But what on earth has 
been going on here?” he added, looking first at 
the cabinet and then at Bob Rowly’s Bardolphian 
nose. 

“ Justice ! ” cried Peggy Blackiston, with emo- 
tion. “ I have asked you purposely here to intro- 
duce to you my friend — my dear little friend, Mr. 


MARGARET’S DECISION 361 

Robert Rowly, whom no doubt you have heard 
of.” 

“ I am the Rowly, my lord, who won your bat 
for the best average in the cricket club,” said Bob, 
with glowing cheeks, for there was no expression 
of recognition in Lord Streybridge’s courtly face. 

“ Really,” replied his lordship, with frigid ur- 
banity. Peggy Blackiston was impulsive, and the 
young man’s appearance at the moment was cer- 
tainly not in his favour. 

“ He has done much more than that,” continued 
Miss Blackiston. “ A scoundrel threatened to 
burn a certain document unless I gave him a large 
sum of money. I met this brave little fellow as 
I returned from the bank, and though the other 
was six feet high and had a fist like a cannon-ball, 
he gave him the most terrific beating, recovered 
the paper, and saved me £100. My Lord Strey- 
bridge, when you hear people declare that the age 
of chivalry is gone, bethink you of that nose; and 
now I want you to repay him for his devotion to a 
poor unprotected old woman by proposing him for 
the East Whitshire Club.” 

“ No, no,” cried the lad eagerly. “ I’ve thought 
it over since I spoke. I would rather Lord Strey- 
bridge proposed my father. The Admiral won’t 
‘ pill ’ him then, and I don’t want to belong to any 
club that thinks itself too good for my father.” 

“ You are evidently a very brave and right- 
minded fellow,” said Lord Streybridge kindly. 
“ I’ll propose both of you myself and get the Ad- 
miral to second you. For you know by this time 


362 THE SWEETEST SOLACE 

that no man has ever been able to refuse a request 
of Miss Blackiston’s.” 

“ Now, Julian,” said Miss Blackiston, when 
Bob Rowly had gone off in the seventh heaven, 
“ you have made one honest little soul contented. 
Stay here with an old woman in the hour of her 
happiness — a happiness which is almost as hard 
to bear as is grief itself. This,” she continued, 
unlocking a drawer, “ is the document the black- 
mailer brought.” She placed it on the table and 
said, “ Have you ever, in the days of your boy- 
hood, ever heard of one Henry Carden ? ” 

“ I have,” replied Lord Streybridge, with a 
quickening pulse. 

“Well, in that case, you know his story — his 
sad, unutterably sad, story. Julian, dear Julian, 
you can guess why it is that after all these years 
the man brought this document to me of all peo- 
ple. For here lies the proof of dear Harry’s in- 
nocence.” 

“ Innocence ! You cannot mean it I Show it to 
me! Show it to me!” 

“ I am glad, Julian, that you have shown sym- 
pathy for me. I have sometimes thought you were 
a man of that fastidious type who find not love, 
nor take heed of it in others.” 

“ Did you, Peggy? ” he answered, with a quaint 
little laugh. “ Well, I should always take interest 
in anything that concerned you. Come, let us see 
the paper.” 

Lie spread it out, and, grasping her hand tightly 
in his, they sat side by side. 


MARGARET’S DECISION 363 

Scarcely had they read half the first page 
when Lord Streybridge said, very gravely, “ Peg- 
gy, this is not for our eyes. There is only one 
who should read this, and that is Henry Carden’s 
daughter.” 

“ Then you know ! ” cried Peggy Blackiston 
aghast. 

“ Yes, poor soul, she told me herself.” 

“Margaret told you? Margaret told you, a 
comparative stranger, the story of her father’s 
shame? ” 

“ I know her better than perhaps you think. 
Indeed, she had no option. I pressed her sorely. 

In short, I asked her to be my wife, and she re^ 
fused even to listen to me, because of this.” 

“You asked this poor schoolmistress to marry 
you ? ” asked the astonished spinster through her 
tears. 

“ Yes, I may be fastidious, but the poor school- 
mistress fulfilled my ideal. Let us take the paper 
to her.” 

As he took it up the leaves fluttered out and he 
saw at the bottom of the final page the signature 
of Charles Marston. 

“ Look, look. This is the cause of Charles 
Marston’s distress. It is from him that the confes- 
sion has been stolen. I will go to him at once, and 
we will come together to see Margaret. But it * 
is hers by right. Do you take it to her and pre- 
pare her for our coming.” 

So Peggy Blackiston took Edward Gascoigne’s 
confession to Margaret Carden. And there, in the 


364 THE SWEETEST SOLACE 

room in which her father had played as a child, 
Margaret read the story of the great wrong which 
had wrecked his life; of his own heroic self-renun- 
ciation; of his friend’s remorse and penitence. 

In the meantime Lord Streybridge crossed the 
Square. He found Admiral Gascoigne waiting on 
the steps of Canon Marston’s house. So soon as 
the long interview between Rex and Swannick had 
terminated, the old sailor hastened to Charles 
Marston to try and allay the latter’s inevitable 
anguish when, on his return, he should find that 
the document had disappeared. 

So he and Lord Streybridge were shown into the 
library together. They found Charles Marston 
sitting in his writing chair. His face was white 
and strained. He had touched the nadir of 
wretchedness. The Admiral’s heart was touched. 
Julian Streybridge was a gentleman to his finger- 
tips. Men had lost their reason for less; he would 
speak at once. 

“If you have been looking for a document which 
used to lie in that drawer ” 

“ Yes, yes,” cried the Canon in a shrill voice. 
“You took it, John. Oh, tell me you took it! 
You did not know what it meant to me.” 

“ No, no,” replied the Admiral, not without in- 
dignation. “ It was Thomas Swannick who took 
it.” 

“ Oh, John, forgive me 1 I will go to his office 
at once. Now, this very moment.” 

“ I am afraid,” replied the Admiral, placing his 
hand on his old friend’s shoulder, “ that you will 


MARGARET’S DECISION 365 

not find it. Swannick filched it from your bureau, 
and someone in his office succeeded in abstracting 
it out of the safe.” 

The old schoolmaster rose and rocked to and 
fro, and Lord Streybridge hastened to say : 

“ Did not that paper concern one Henry Car- 
den ? ” 

“ Yes, yes,” replied Charles Marston. 

“ Then take heart. It is at this moment in the 
hands of one who has good right to hold it.” 

“ Thank God, thank God ! ” said Charles Mars- 
ton, with radiant eyes. “ Poor Harry’s daugh- 
ter!” 

“You know, then?” asked Lord Streybridge, 
with concern, as he looked towards the Admiral. 

“ And I also have known for some weeks that 
Henry Carden’s daughters were living,” said the 
Admiral, with grim-set face; “but,” he added 
sadly, “ I did not know until Swannick came to 
my house late last night that it was by one of my 
own blood that poor Harry was undone. I have 
some right to see that paper. Let us come across.” 

Margaret was still sitting at the table with the 
scattered pages before her; they were blistered 
with her tears. Beside her was Peggy Blackiston. 

The two women rose when the visitors entered; 
they held out their hands in silence, their hearts 
were too full to speak. 

“ My dear,” said Admiral Gascoigne in a grave 
voice, “ it seems that a member of my family did 
your father a very grievous wrong. I have al- 
ready heard the story, but it would give me a 


366 THE SWEETEST SOLACE 

melancholy satisfaction if I might be allowed to 
read what poor Edward wrote.” 

Margaret handed him the paper. She pitied the 
kind old man from the bottom of her heart. He 
read it in silence. There was a slight quiver in the 
strong lips when he saw the signature of his dead 
brother, but that was all. He passed it to Canon 
Marston and walked away to the window. 

Charles Marston had less self-control, and if he 
had to wipe his spectacles more than once, it may 
be remembered that he had loved both these young 
men. He handed the confession back to Mar- 
garet, and for some seconds no one spoke. At 
last the silence was broken by Admiral Gascoigne. 

‘‘ There is only one thing I would ask you, Mar- 
garet Carden. I should like my nephew to see that 
paper before you take steps to publish it. I think 
it only fair to him.” 

“ To publish it. Admiral Gascoigne? ” repeated 
the girl. 

“ Certainly. You must publish it through the 
usual channels. You owe that to your father’s 
memory. Poor Rexl It will cut him when he 
learns the truth.” 

“ Rex shall never learn the truth,” cried Mar- 
garet passionately. “ My father loved Rex — 
perhaps for his own sake, perhaps for the sake of 
another. Years before he deliberately chose that 
Henry Carden should die to the world rather than 
shame and sorrow should fall upon two people 
whom he loved. It may have been wrong, but 
my father did it with a clear mind and single heart. 


MARGARET’S DECISION 367 

What he did that will I, his daughter, do. Oh, 
dear, dear father,” she cried, looking across the 
Square with shining eyes, “ look down from heaven 
upon me and tell me I am doing right! Oh, 
I know I am doing right! ” she repeated, as she 
turned her pale proud face to the silent group. 
“ To-night I shall keep this. It must be shown to 
Jessy, though it will lacerate her gentle heart — 
and then it shall be destroyed, and not a soul but 
we five and my sister — not Rex — not even kind, 
noble Mr. Cox — shall ever know the after-life 
of Henry Carden, who perished in the flooding 
of the Tonora Valley. That man died. Henry 
Francis lived and found the solace of a blameless 
life. And now I would like to be alone.” 

Peggy Blackiston rose and kissed her and left. 
John Gascoigne rose also, and followed, but as he 
bade the girl good-bye, he said, “ You are doing 
wrong, my child. I know it, and for the first time 
in my life I am failing in my duty in not compelling 
you to act as I suggested. But, God help me, I 
love my lad and I cannot.” 

“ Admiral Gascoigne,” answered Margaret in a 
low voice, “ perhaps you know Rex loves my little 
sister. I knew the story of my father’s life, and I 
compelled her to refuse him. But now ” 

“ The honour of such an alliance lies with you,” 
he replied sadly, as he pressed the girl’s hand to 
his lips. 

“ Are you coming my way, Julian? ” he said to 
Lord Streybridge as he left the room. 

“ Not yet,” the young man replied, with flushing 


368 THE SWEETEST SOLACE 

cheek. “ I have something to say to Miss — Car- 
den.” 

Admiral Gascoigne raised his eyebrows and 
smiled tenderly. That girl was worthy of any 
destiny — even the highest. 

“ And so your prayer has been answered,” said 
Lord Streybridge, as he came close to the girl and 
took her hand. “ And now ” 

“ Oh, I cannot say ! I cannot think ! I can 
think only of one thing: I knew he was innocent! 
I knew he was innocent 1 ” Her voice rang clear 
and high; there was a look of exaltation in her 
face which stirred her lover to the very depths of 
his soul. 

“ Oh, I cannot breathe I ” she exclaimed pas- 
sionately. “ I feel stifled in this room! ” 

“ Let us go into the Square garden for a few 
minutes; it will revive you; you need fresh air.” 

She put on a rough straw hat, and he took the 
key from the hall table. 

The breeze, though cool, had a pleasant tang of 
the sea. The evening light gilded the dingy rail- 
ings. The scent of the lilac was passing sweet. 
She stood absorbed in thought, looking the while 
at the old gas lamp, whose sobriquet had so mys- 
teriously affected her life. “ The Admiral’s Bin- 
nacle! ” The words that fell from her father’s 
dying lips, the words that Charles Marston had 
used that eventful autumn evening. Oh, quaint 
old lamp! No beacon drew storm-tossed mariner 
to a kindlier harbourage. 

“ Well, Margaret,” said Lord Streybridge, as he 


MARGARET’S DECISION 369 

stood some paces from her, “ cannot you give me 
your answer? A better man you may find easily, 
but not a greater love than mine.” 

“ You are the best, most chivalrous of men,” she 
replied. “ It is not that.” 

“Then what is it?” he asked, in a low pas- 
sionate voice. 

“ Oh, you must know well enough! I am only 
a schoolmistress, brought up in the colonies. You 
are a great nobleman. The ladies your predeces- 
sors have chosen for their wives have all come from 
a certain class; I am not of that class, and I am 
not adaptable. I cannot be other than myself.” 

“ God forbid you should,” he replied. “ It is 
that self I want. Is that all, really? ” 

She drew back and seated herself upon the old 
bench. She had plucked a spray of lilac and was 
idly toying with it. 

Lord Streybridge fretted the gravel with im- 
patient foot. She seemed to be deterred by some 
strange self-distrust. By an uncontrollable im- 
pulse, oblivious of his surroundings, he took her 
hand. Suddenly the soft scrape of an opening 
window fell upon his ears. 

Margaret rose and looked round the Square. It 
was just before the dinner-hour. Every drawing- 
room was full. At every window except three 
there was a packed and intensely interested audi- 
ence. ’Twas like unto an arena in the days of 
old. 

“ Oh, what shall I do? ” she cried, as she drew^ 
away her hand. 

24 


370 THE SWEETEST SOLACE 

“ There is only one thing, darling, that you can 
do,” replied Lord Streybridge, as he led her gently 
away. 

He paused at the wicket-gate and looked round 
the Square. Then he smiled gently as he mur- 
mured, “ A censorious neighborhood is not with- 
out its uses.” 


CHAPTER XXXVII 


THE SQUARE REJOICES 

Poor Margaret’s apprehensions that her humble 
station and ignorance of the world would unfit 
her for the great position she was asked to assume 
were speedily allayed when Lady Armine Helstone 
came to see her next morning. Nor did that lady’s 
kind offices end there. She was aware, perhaps 
sadly aware, that the obstacle to which Margaret 
had alluded had, in some miraculous manner, been 
removed, and Jessamine was equally free to marry 
Rex Gascoigne. So soon, therefor, as she had 
comforted her future sister-in-law with the most 
tender assurances, she asked to see Jessamine. 
The latter had already been told the story of her 
father’s life and how, with the proof of his inno- 
cence in their hands, they need no longer hesitate 
to follow the dictates of their hearts. She, like 
Margaret, thought it were better far that their 
father’s act of sacrifice should be respected; that 
Henry Carden should for ever lie in the Tonora 
Valley, and that Rex Gascoigne should never know 
of his father’s weakness and shame. In truth, she 
loved him too dearly to visit upon him the sin of 
his father — a father who had repented so bitterly 
and who had striven to make reparation. When 
she entered the room Lady Armine reminded bef 

371 


372 


THE SWEETEST SOLACE 


that it was Rex Gascoigne’s birthday, and that 
there was one present that he would value above 
all others, namely, herself. “ For you see,” she 
added, “ I have been Rex’s confidante, and knew 
all about it, and as he has promised to lunch with 
us to-day, let me know where you would like to 
meet him, say, about half-past three this after- 
noon, and I will give him a little hint to be there 
to receive — his present.” 

With cheeks aglow with all the colouring of 
Australasia, Jessamine replied that she would be 
at the ‘ Jinks ’ tree, in Quarry Walk, at the ap- 
pointed time. 

“The what tree?” enquired Lady Armine in 
dire perplexity. 

“ Oh, it is only a silly name that means noth- 
ing, but Rex will know.” 

“ No doubt,” replied Lady Armine with a quaint 
little moue. Lovers have silly names for many 
things. In the world wherein she lived there were 
no silly names. 

And so it happened that when Rex appeared 
in the Quarry Walk, lo! beneath the tree stood 
the girl whom he knew, and was ever to know, 
as Jessamine Francis. 

She waited for him with sweet surrender in her 
gentle eyes and on the very spot where, in a mo- 
ment of self-consciousness and false shame, he had 
denied her, he received her absolution. 

Nor were these the only couple who, in the ful- 
ness of time, found happiness. For^ as it may be 
supposed, Mr. Albert Harris did not reappear at 


373 


THE SQUARE REJOICES 

the office. Humiliated by the thrashing he re- 
ceived, and conscious that Miss Blackiston would 
expose his perfidy to Admiral Gascoigne, he left 
Whitborough unostentatiously that very night, re- 
gretted by nobody, except, possibly, Mr. Barkly 
Helstone, who rarely failed to extract a gambling 
debt, and whose position, both financial and social, 
grows daily more desperate. His principal, the 
genial Swannick, fearful lest Harris had discovered 
his own breach of trust, was only too delighted that 
the latter had disappeared so opportunely, and 
when he himself made his conge at the end of the 
week, it was with the devout hope that he and his 
confidential clerk would never meet again on this 
terrestrial sphere. 

So soon, however, as Mr. Harris vacated the 
field, Mrs. Merrydew began to see unexpected 
virtue in Bob Rowly, especially as the election of 
both father and son to the East Whitshire Club 
removed those social disabilities which had hitherto 
proved such an insurmountable barrier. Gwen- 
dolen was really relieved at her dear Bert’s de- 
parture and found her new suitor a refreshing 
contrast to the old. For if Robert lacked the 
grand manner he was no less devoid of the 
“ touchy ” temperament. He never passed any 
reflection upon her complexion, her figure, or the 
vagaries of her unruly coiffure. Above all, he 
never spoke disrespectfully of the Dolcibel Cham- 
pagne. Indeed, he had good reason to appreciate 
its inspiriting properties, for he was fain to drink 
the best part of a bottle before he ventured to ask 


374 the sweetest SOLACE 

Miss Blackiston if she would accept the invitation 
to the post-nuptial reception which his future 
mother-in-law was about to send her. Miss 
Blackiston pursed her lips and could not restrain 
a wry little grimace, but she did accept it, for she 
regarded Bob Rowly with peculiar affection, and, 
indeed, had good reason to. 

“ Gwendolen,” cried the elated mother, “ I shall 
ask Lady Armine now. She might come, who 
knows ? It’s one step forward on the sacred quest. 
Pa and me will dine, you see.” 

So the invitation was sent to Lady Armine, and, 
what is more, she accepted it. For, if she had 
not been actually interested in Bob Rowly’s love 
affair, she had certainly been extremely interested 
in Peggy Blackiston’s absorption therein. So, in 
the fulness of time, when these two were married. 
Lady Armine Helstone not only attended the cere- 
mony, but duly repaired afterwards to the Merry- 
dew reception, where she caught a fleeting glance 
of Miss Blackiston at the other end of a densely 
crowded room. 

The interest, however, excited in the Square by 
the Rowly wedding was a small matter when com- 
pared with the feverish excitement caused on all 
sides by the impending marriage of the two sis- 
ters who, coming as unknown strangers to the city, 
had, by their beauty, charm, and sheer goodness, 
won the hearts of the two men whom envious 
mothers declared (in the conventional jargon) to 
be the most eligible young men in the county. 

For Rex Gascoigne, be it known, was now openly 


THE SQUARE REJOICES 375 

recognised as the certain successor of Mr. Lance- 
lot Helstone. The £5,000 found in the tin box 
was quietly brought back into the estate and Rex 
knew no more than that the estate had turned out 
to be somewhat larger than Mr. Swannick had an- 
ticipated. And as Benjamin Cox insisted upon 
transferring certain house property, which he pos- 
sessed in Sydney, to the younger of his adopted 
daughters, the financial difficulties which had stood 
in the way of Rex’s candidature were happily re- 
moved. So, as things turned out, he seemed to 
be scarcely less eligible than his friend. 

These disappointed parents had, moreover, am- 
ple time wherein to brood over their grievances. 
Margaret did not want the wedding to take place 
until the autumn. The question of selecting her 
successor was one which it were better to defer, 
as was usual, until the end of the summer term. 
She loved her work and the children. Nor did 
she see anything invidious in her labours. Any 
criticism which had assailed Miss Francis was 
modified in the case of the future Lady Strey- 
bridge. Human nature being what it is, parents 
were only too ready to entrust their little darlings 
to a prospective countess, and at the beginning of 
the Michaelmas term the school was handed over 
in a particularly flourishing condition. 

Peggy Blackiston insisted upon the two girls 
being married from her house, but inasmuch as 
its capacities were restricted, it was arranged that 
the reception after the wedding should take place 
at Gascoigne House. Mrs. Rowly was one of the 


376 THE SWEETEST SOLACE 


first to receive an invitation, but when Margaret 
wishing to make no invidious distinctions among 
the people in the Square who had vouchsafed to 
call upon them in the days of their obscurity, sug- 
gested Mr. and Mrs. Merrydew, Peggy Blackiston 
made no direct protest, but shook her head omi- 
nously. 

It was on the anniversary of the day whereon 
Margaret had entered the old Square, a stranger 
and a pilgrim, that the two girls were married in 
St. Chad’s Church, whither their father had tod- 
dled as a little child from the house of the Little 
Angels. 

Ben Cox, at the earnest request of all concerned, 
gave the two girls away. Lie had been, in truth, a 
second father to them. But he himself always 
contended that the man who had proved their 
friend in need was Robert Sefton, who, it may be 
mentioned, succeeded Swannick as Admiral Gas- 
coigne’s man of business. 

The vicar of the parish and Lord Streybridge’s 
private chaplain helped to officiate, but it was 
Charles Marston who actually married them, and 
if Alicia Marston whispered to Mrs. Fetch that 
though she had known from the first that Miss 
Francis v^as designing, she had certainly never an- 
ticipated the depth and artfulness of those designs, 
it may be said that these two were the only per- 
sons in the crowded church who wished ill to the 
two beautiful girls who came down the aisle upon 
the arms of the men who had wooed and won them. 

If there was, indeed, aught to mar their happi- 


377 


THE SQUARE REJOICES 

ness, it was that they were compelled to lend them- 
selves to an act of deception and sign the register 
with the name their father had adopted and not 
that which had been his of right, for otherwise 
the story must needs have been laid bare. And 
Lord Streybridge, however, assured his bride that 
it was Margaret Francis who had won his heart.. 
Moreover, she endeavored to find absolution in 
the fact that Charles Marston, a most punctilious 
man, had lent himself cheerfully to the deception. 

Peggy Blackiston, clad in brave apparel, and 
greatly elated at the good fortune of the two girls, 
for whom she had stood social sponsor, was the 
life and soul of the party at Gascoigne House. 
She was here, there, and everywhere. Talking 
now to this one, now to that, but all the while 
dexterously evading the repeated advances of the 
indomitable Mrs. Merrydew. But when the hour 
came for her beloved ones to go, her spirits fell, 
and it was a sallow, tearful little woman who 
kissed with passionate eagerness the two fair faces. 

“ We shall soon be back, dearest Peggy,” they 
both assured her. 

“ I know, I know, but I am an old woman now; 
I feel it, dear children. Don’t be long away.” 

There was some kissing, much hand-shaking, 
a shower of rice, the clatter of horses, and they 
were gone. 

Peggy Blackiston wandered up to the back 
drawing-room, which was almost deserted. She 
sank back in a chair, covered her face with her 
hand, and lay in a stupor of emotion and fatigue. 


378 THE SWEETEST SOLACE 

She felt a hand in hers, and opened her eyes. It 
was Lady Armine Helstone, who wore a strange, 
rapt expression upon her noble face. 

“ You are overwrought, dear Peggy. I will get 
you a cup of tea. You will soon be all right and 
ready to dine with us to-night at Helstone 
Towers.” 

Peggy thanked her, covered her face again, and 
resigned herself to the joys of tearful reverie. 
Soon she heard the footstep returning and the 
click of a spoon against the teacup. The cup was 
placed in her hand. 

“Thank you, darling; put it down beside me,” 
she said, and with her eyes still closed in a sort of 
ecstasy of fatigue, she raised her pouting lips, for 
she loved Armine Helstone, not less than the girls 
who had just left her side. She felt the warm 
pressure of the kiss she had mutely asked for, and 
heard the soft rustle of the receding dress. 

For two or three minutes more Peggy lay back 
oblivious of her surroundings. Suddenly, a few 
yards away, she heard a voice saying, “ Can’t pos- 
sibly come round to-night, Maria, I’m dining with 
the house party at Helstone Towers.” 

Peggy Blackiston sprang up from her chair. At 
the partition doorway stood Elizabeth Merrydew 
— radiant, triumphant, her lips silently repeating 
the single word “ dine.” Peggy blinked her eyes 
as one who wakes from a dream, and at that mo- 
ment she saw Lady Armine Helstone coming 
towards her. 

“ Oh, Peggy, dear, you will forgive me, I am 


THE SQUARE REJOICES 379 

sure. So many people hurried up to say good- 
bye that I could not come myself and so I sent 
your friend, Mrs. Merrydew, with the tea.” 
“Then it was she — who — oh I oh I” cried 
My friend, oh I Armine Helstone, 
have you asked Mrs. Merrydew to dinner? ” 

“Yes, dear. Lady Arundel has just received a 
telegram. Her boy is ill at Eton, and so, observ- 
ing that you were overcome by fatigue, I thought 
it would be nice if you had some one from the 
Square to go back with you to-night. I did think 
of Mrs. Merrydew because I had seen you recently 
at her house, when her son married, you know, 
but I hesitated, not knowing if you were on terms 
of sufficient intimacy, but, of course, when I saw 
you actually kiss her I hesitated no longer. I 
hope you approve of what I did.” 

“ Oh quite,” replied Peggy, with a little sigh of 
resignation. “ You’re quite sure she kissed me? ” 
“ Why, of course, you put your lips up to hers. 
But won’t you drink your tea whilst it’s hot.” 

“ No, dear, I will not,” said Miss Blackiston 
firmly, “ there are some occasions when tea is an 
inadequate restorative. I think I’ll go downstairs 
and have some more champagne.” 

5|S ♦ * * ♦ 

In a few weeks the two happy couples were back 
again in Whitborough. But they had a longer 
journey before them. To facilitate certain legal 
transactions, Ben Cox expressed a wish that Rex 
and Jessamine should accompany him back to 
Australia, if only for a few weeks. And as Mar- 


380 THE SWEETEST SOLACE 

garet greatly wished to revisit the scenes of her 
youth which were now invested with so strange a 
romance, it was arranged that they should all go 
out for a short visit to Garlonga. 

On a bleak January morning, numbed by the 
biting wind and lashed by the driving rain, Peggy 
Blackiston, Lady Armine Helstone, and Admiral 
Gascoigne stood upon the quay of a London dock. 
An ocean-going steamer had just left her moorings 
and was making her way slowly down the river. 

“You won’t forget to come and see me. Lady 
Armine. I shall be very lonely,” said the Admiral 
as they watched five figures standing by the bul- 
warks. 

Armine Helstone made no reply, but she pressed 
his hand hard. She had known the darling wish, 
of his heart ever since the evening Ben Cox had 
come to Helstone Towers. 

Peggy Blackiston stole a sidelong glance at her 
companion. Slight and tall, oblivious of the rain 
and wind, she stood there motionless; her queenly 
little head erect, her faultless profile immobile as 
a statue. Then the slightest of the three men 
they were watching waved his handkerchief. She 
turned her eyes towards that conventional signal 
and looked and looked as it grew fainter, and then 
slowly faded into the blur of river fog. Then her 
lips quivered. 

She felt a little warm hand creep into hers and a 
gentle voice whisper very softly: 

“ I have long known, darling, but be of brave 
heart. There is much happiness for you. Not 


THE SQUARE REJOICES 381 

the greatest happiness of all — but still happiness. 
You are a good woman; and remember what I 
told you once — it takes a very exceptional person 
to be a nice old maid, but there’s nothing nicer than 
a nice old maid, when you have the good luck to 
find her.” 


THE END. 

















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